Shut Up, Sweetheart
by A Silver Cloud's Lullaby
Summary: A look at the moments between everyone's favorite talkative escort and sarcastic mentor. A series of one-shots and drabbles. Hayffie Galore!
1. Grow Old With Me

**More information in A/N at the end.**

**This is a request from the lovely Shikabane-Mai! She wanted a one-shot/drabble post-Mockingjay. Since I didn't know what specific scene she wanted, I just made one up. I hope you like it, my dear!**

**This is pretty short. Hope you all like it. :)**

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_Title: Grow Old With Me  
__Summary: A glimpse into Haymitch and Effie's life post-Mockingjay. Utter fluffery.  
Rating: T for language  
Pairings: Hayffie. Everlark.  
Disclaimer: I do not own Haymitch, Effie, or anything else related to the Hunger Games. -Sigh-_

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Effie hiked up her skirt and chased after a skittering blonde imp. "Kenna Mellark, you come back here this minute!"

Kenna whipped her head around, her blonde hair blowing in the wind. She whined in protest, big grey eyes pleading with Effie's exhausted navy ones. "But I want to play with the geese, Ms. Effie!"

Effie knelt in front of the cute little wisp. She straightened Kenna's dress, wrinkled and dirty from her playing. "No, Kenna."

Kenna pouted. "But Grandpa Haymitch lets me play with the geese!"

Effie raised her eyebrow. "Well, I'm not Grandpa Haymitch, now am I?"

"Oh, come on, sweetheart." _Speak of the devil_. Effie bit back a sigh and turned her head in Haymitch's direction. He was watching the two girls with an amused and exasperated (Effie was sure she initiated the exasperation) expression, leaning against his porch railing and holding a beer in his right hand. "Just let the little mite play with the stupid birds."

Effie frowned as she gave a final primp to Kenna's dress. She stood and put her hands on her hips. "I will not, Haymitch. Those geese are crawling with disease. Who knows what she could catch?"

Haymitch snorted. "Eff, those birds have been coming and going from this place for fifteen years. If we haven't caught a disease yet, I don't think we will any time soon."

Effie's lips thinned. "Yes, well, I'm sure all of the alcohol you consume would kill any bacteria that enter your system." Haymitch laughed. "Regardless, those birds are disgusting anyway."

"No, they're not!" Kenna hollered from across the yard.

Haymitch took a drink. He gestured towards the small blonde with his bottle. "You should listen to Sunshine over there."

Effie put her hands on her hips. "No, she should listen to _me_. I'm actually looking out for her health, unlike her supposed adopted 'grandfather.' What kind of grandfather lets his grandchild play with wild avian?"

Haymitch shook his head. "Woman, you don't live in the Capitol anymore. Learn to talk like a normal person, and call those birds _birds_." He stepped down from the porch and walked towards her. "What's wrong with letting Kenna have some fun with a few geese?"

Effie ignored her fluttering heart. How was it that after spending all these years with this insufferable man, he was _still_ able to make her heart skip a beat merely from his proximity? "Those _birds_ are mean and dirty!"

Haymitch shrugged. "Yeah, but so am I. But you still love me anyway."

She glared to his right. "Yes, well, keep this up and I may seriously reconsider it."

He wrapped his arms around her waist and grinned wickedly. "Oh, yeah, princess?"

Haymitch tilted his head down and kissed her thoroughly, catching Effie off guard. She allowed herself to melt into the kiss. _I was reconsidering this_? _Effie Trinket, you are a silly woman indeed_. She only broke away when a loud, "Ewwwww!" pierced the air. Oh, right, they were with child.

Uh…that is, a child was present.

Effie stepped back with a blush on her cheeks and turned to Kenna, trying to ignore Haymitch's laughing lips. "'Ew' is right, Kenna," she said with a solemn nod. "Haymitch smells like a wet dog."

Haymitch groaned. "Woman, why do you _always_ have to nag me—"

"I am _not_ 'nagging,' I am simply concerned—"

"Concerned, my ass!"

Effie gasped. "Do not use such foul language in the presence of—"

"Is this what mommy and daddy mean when they say that you fight like an old married couple?"

The two adults looked at the confused little girl. Effie furrowed her brows. "I'm sorry, what?"

Kenna moved her head from Effie, to Haymitch, then back again. "I think mommy and daddy are confused, because Grandpa Haymitch said that you weren't married. Did he tell a fib, Ms. Effie?"

Haymitch and Effie exchanged awkward glances. "Well, no, honey, Grandpa Haymitch and I aren't married."

Kenna bit her lip. "So you fight because you're old then?"

Haymitch burst out laughing. He doubled over, the limited contents of his beer threatening to spill out. Effie's eye twitched. _Old_? She plastered on a smile and bent towards Kenna. "Honey, why don't you just go and play with the geese?"

Kenna's face lit up—proud as punch that she was getting her way. "Thank you, Ms. Effie!" She ran off in the direction of the flock of irritable birds.

Effie sighed and sat down on the porch steps. Was she really getting old? She hadn't really been paying attention. It was shocking to her. In the past she would have a plethora of surgeries, medications, and powders at her fingertips to conceal any signs of aging. Now that she wasn't in the Capitol, she didn't have the luxury. It never bothered her before, but now that it came to her attention, she was overcome with anxiety that she was beginning to look like an old hag. For the first time in a while, she missed her old home and the silly (at least, to those outside of the Capitol) antidotes they offered.

Oh, dear heaven, was she really going off on the "back in my day" train of thought?

Effie groaned and put her head in her hands.

Haymitch came into her peripheral vision. He leaned his hip against railing post. He took a drink, still chuckling heartily, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Kids say the damnedest things, eh, sweetheart?"

"I'm actually getting old," she replied, her voice muffled from her hands.

"Yes, congratulations." He nudged her calf with his bare foot. "You're human like the rest of us."

She didn't want to be human, she wanted to be young. How could she have not noticed? Effie removed her hands from her face and studied them. Were they getting leathery? Did she have wrinkles on her face? Were there patches of white in her silver hair? Was she going to go through menopause any minute? Was Haymitch aging with her?

Effie shifted her eyes to the former mentor. He was still as handsome as he was when she first saw him at the age of sixteen, but the signs of aging were evident. Speckles of grey were patched around his dark stubble and around the curls on his temples. He had the faintest hint of frown lines. He was showing signs of a gut. He didn't look old, but it was clear he was getting old_er_.

What about her? What did she look like? Would he still find her beautiful? Would he not want her anymore? Would he send her packing to the Capitol because she was aging like it was so common for men to do back at home once they lost interest in their women and moved on to younger ones? Would Haymitch want a younger woman?

Haymitch frowned at her. She could feel herself hyperventilating and tears spring in her eyes. Was he going to send her away right now? "What's the matter with you, Eff?"

Effie suddenly felt very ashamed. She buried her face in her arms so that he wouldn't have to look at her possibly wrinkly face. Maybe if he couldn't see he wouldn't banish her?

Haymitch saw the change in her attitude. "Effie? Seriously, what's up with you?"

"Please don't send me away," she mumbled. She couldn't bear it if he did. He was all she had left in her life. She didn't have anywhere else to go. There was no one left in the Capitol for her. He protected her from the nightmares. She didn't want to be alone. She didn't want to be without him. What if he didn't want her? What would she do then?

Haymitch's scrunched his nose. "Why on earth would I send you away?"

"Because I look like _this_. Because I look _old_." She buried her face further into her arms. "I'm sorry. Please don't send me away because I'm aging."

Haymitch gaped at her. _Is this really what she thought_? "You think I'm going to make you leave because you're succumbing to something completely natural? Because you're getting older?"

Effie let out a whimper and stiffened her shoulders. She wished he would just make it quick.

Haymitch swore under his breath. "Effie, look at me."

She shook her head. "I can't let you see me like this."

He bit back a groan. "Eff, come on." She moaned pathetically in response. Haymitch sighed. He guzzled what was left of his beer and threw the bottle into the grass to the right. He walked around and knelt in front of Effie. He put his hands on her elbows, gently trying to pull them away from her head. "Look at me, Effie."

"No."

"Sweetheart, _look at me_." She flinched at his stern tone. Nonetheless, she slowly raised her head from her cocoon. Her navy eyes were red and puffy, and there were light tears stains on her cheeks. They tugged at his heart. Did she really think he was going to make her leave? He gently brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. He tried to make his voice gentle. He never was very good at being compassionate. "Effie, why on earth would you think I'd make you leave _just_ because you were getting older?"

Effie furrowed her brows in confusion. "In the Capitol, when a woman shows signs of aging, the man has every right to toss her away. There's nothing to stop him from going after a younger woman. Now that I'm aging, what's to stop _you_ if you want another woman younger than I?"

Haymitch's eyes hardened. Effie shamefully turned her face away. Haymitch grabbed her chin and jerked her face towards his, forcing her to look into his fierce, silver eyes. His voice was harsh, but not angry. "First, you're not in the Capitol anymore, sweetheart. Second, you're hardly showing any physical signs of aging—except maybe these mood swings. Third…" His eyes softened. He moved the hand holding her chin to cradle the side of her face. "Third, I don't want a younger woman. The only woman I want is _you_."

Ironically, Effie suddenly felt very much like a child Kenna's age. "Really?" she whispered. He nodded. "But what about when I _do_ start showing signs physically? Are you still going to want me then?" Her eyes turned downcast. "Will you still think I'm beautiful?"

Haymitch sighed and stroked his thumb against her cheek. "Sweetheart, after all that we've been through, you should consider it a _blessing_ to be getting older. We're still alive. We have the chance to grow old. There are many people who haven't. And, _yes_, I'll still think you're beautiful. In fact, you'll be even more beautiful to me, because that means we've made it." He leaned his forehead against hers. "Do you hear me, princess? You will _always_ be beautiful to me, no matter what you look like."

Effie leaned her face upwards and kissed him. He returned it eagerly. Heaven above, she loved this man so much. She hummed happily when he pulled away, a small grin on his own mouth. He twisted around so that he was sitting on the grass in front of her knees, his elbows supporting him on either side of her feet. She began running her fingernails through his curls, the way she knew he loved. She smiled when he sighed in content.

They sat in silence, enjoying each other's company and watching Kenna chase after the geese. They honked angrily at her, flapping their wings to escape her giggles and lunges. Effie sincerely hoped none of them wouldn't try to bite her. Nevertheless, it made Effie's heart feel light and free to watch Kenna's carefree euphoria. She still didn't think it was wise to let the little girl play with such filthy birds, but it made her happy. As long as she didn't get hurt, Effie will try to squash her worry. It was worth it to see those pearly baby teeth and deep dimples (though she could do without the dirty dress).

"Sunshine has a point, you know," Haymitch spoke, his voice causing his back to rumble against Effie's knees.

Effie cocked her head to the side and stopped playing with his hair. "About what?"

Haymitch tilted his head back so he could meet her eyes upside down. It was quite amusing. "Why _don't_ we get married?"

Effie's heart stopped. She blinked rapidly. "What?" she asked breathlessly.

Haymitch's shrugged. "Think about it, Eff. We've been together for nearly ten years. You've practically lived here for five. You don't want anyone else. I don't want anyone else." He twisted around so he was facing her, his arm resting across her lap. "So what are we waiting for? Why don't we tie the knot?"

She could only gawk at him. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. She's dreamt of being Mrs. Effie Abernathy ever since she was fourteen. She just didn't think it would ever happen, even when they began their relationship. Effie cleared her throat. "I didn't think you wanted to get married."

He gave her a funny look. "What made you think that, princess?"

"I…well. You just—you never asked."

Haymitch scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "I guess I never thought about it. But I'm asking you now." He propped up one knee so that he was in the proper kneeling position. He smirked and leaned all of his weight against her lap, his face inches from hers. "So how 'bout it, sweetheart? Wanna get hitched?"

Effie threw her head back and laughed with happy tears simultaneously building up in her eyes. Leave it to Haymitch to propose to her in the most unorthodox way possible.

Haymitch frowned, but the twinkle was still in his eye letting her know he wasn't completely offended. "You could have just said no."

Effie quieted her laughter. Her smile stayed in place. She felt like she might burst from joy. She folded her arms on top of his and leaned forward, her nose bumping against his. "Of _course_ I want to marry you, you silly, silly, drunk."

He chuckled. Before he could bring his lips to hers in yet another kiss, Kenna's voice piped up. "Ew, are you going to kiss _again_?"

Effie giggled. Haymitch grumbled a, "Damn kid." He turned around to look at Kenna. She was standing in front of them with her lips and nose scrunched in childlike disgust. "Well, I was _trying_ to, Sunshine, until you interrupted me." He playfully poked her in the belly. She squealed and giggled in delight. "Why don't you go back to the geese so that I can finish what I started?"

Effie blushed at his candidness.

Kenna put her hands on her hips. She looked remarkably similar to Effie when she was scolding Haymitch. Perhaps she was spending a little too much time with them. "Should you be kissing so much if you aren't married, Grandpa Haymitch?"

He smirked. "Now who said we weren't married, Sunshine?"

Kenna narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brows, her mouth forming a very baffled _o_. "You said that."

Effie stood up and brushed her hands on her skirt. "What he means, honey," she gave Haymitch a look—the last thing she needed was for Kenna to tell Katniss and Peeta that Haymitch was telling lies to their only daughter, "is that we _will_ be getting married."

Kenna gasped, her grey eyes going wide. "So mommy and daddy were right?"

Peeta and Katniss took that opportunity to walk into the yard, finished with their daily errands. Peeta was carrying a brown bag of something—presumably bread from the bakery—and Katniss was carrying their newborn boy. Katniss frowned in curiosity. "What were we right about, Kenna?"

Their daughter ran towards them, waving her arms around in excitement. "Grandpa Haymitch and Ms. Effie are getting _married_!"

Katniss's eyebrows shot up as she looked at the two adults. Peeta laughed and switched his bag of goodies to one arm so that he could scoop up the little tyke in his other arm. "You don't say?" he said, grinning from ear to ear. "Congratulations. It's about time."

Effie blushed while Haymitch sent Peeta a thumbs up and head bod in acknowledgment. "Thank you, Peeta," she mumbled.

"What made you finally make the decision?"

Haymitch pointed to Kenna. "Sunshine over there told Eff she was getting old." Effie glared at Haymitch. Did Katniss and Peeta really need to know about her meltdown? He replied with a crooked smile. "So the princess over here decided that if she was getting old, she might as well grow old with me."

Katniss playfully rolled her eyes. "That was so corny, Haymitch."

He merely shrugged. "It happens."

Peeta nodded. "About time it did, too. Effie's been waiting for a proposal for what, ten years?" He looked at her for confirmation.

Effie nodded. Kenna gasped, "It's not polite to make people wait for so long, Grandpa Haymitch."

Effie bit back a grin. She was training her well. She'll end up having better manners than both her parents and Haymitch ever had. She nodded to the girl. "Indeed, Kenna." She turned to Haymitch. "So what do you have to say for yourself, Grandpa Haymitch?"

"Only one thing." He smirked and matched Effie's gaze.

"Hey, Grandma."

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**Eh-heh... Was that cheesy or WHAT?**

**There you go, Shikabane-Mai! Hope it was what you wanted!**

**This is the first installment in just a series of random Hayffie one-shots/drabbles. Some may be related, some may not. It's strictly for me to amuse you all and to keep up my writing practice until my Muse attacks me with some inspiration. If any of you have requests you can PM me (please don't request in reviews. I'd rather you just PM me) or message me on my tumblr. :)**

**I hope you all enjoyed it. :D Please review and let me know what you thought!**

**Thanks for reading. I love you all!  
-Lullaby-**


	2. I Never Wanted You But I Need You

**Just a drabble this time. More info at the bottom.**

**A request from waterpoolo8 on tumblr. She wanted a Hayffie AU. So here you are, darlin'!**

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_Title: I Don't Want You; I Need You  
Summary: She was Miss Popular, he was Stoner Extraordinaire. They were a recipe for disaster. But somehow, they fell in love anyway. Very cliche. Highly AU.  
Rating: K+ for mentions of substance abuse  
Pairings: Hayffie. Seneffie.  
Disclaimer: I do not own Haymitch, Effie, or anything else related to the Hunger Games. -Sigh-_

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Effie didn't know how it happened. It shouldn't have, that much was certain. It just wasn't right—it wasn't natural. It was altogether completely _wrong_. But it _did_ happen, and it scared her to death.

It didn't add up. She was student body president of Panem High. She was organized, polite, and got straight A's. She was in charge of every school event, including the Victor's Ball and the Reaping. She was popular, gorgeous, and fashionable. She had a sexy beast of a boyfriend—Seneca Crane, the star quarterback of the football team. He was the best player Panem High had ever seen. His plays rarely went wrong. They were so good, that's how he got his nickname "The Gamemaker."

_He_ was a burn-out—a drunk and a stoner in every sense of the term. He was disgusting, rude, and obnoxious. He was twenty-years-old and still a senior in high school. (Which didn't make sense to Effie; he often got better grades than she did. He probably could have graduated on time if he came to class once in a while.) He avoided as many school functions as he could. It was rumored he once had a girlfriend, but he was so vile, no one really believed it.

He tortured her. He frustrated Effie to her very core. They were polar opposite; they rarely got along. He was everything she tried to avoid, everything that she hated. She couldn't stand him. Not in the least. Not one bit. She was everything he wasn't. She had everything she needed. And he was something she'd never want.

So how in the world could she have fallen in love with Haymitch Abernathy?

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**I tried making this longer. I did. But...I couldn't. Wanna know why?**

**Because this idea is BEGGING me to turn it into a multi-chapter fic. I really, really, really want to. Only thing is, I am notorious for starting ideas and never finishing them. But I'm dying to try this out. I have a rough idea in my head. I'd love to make an outline and start on it. What do you all think? Would you be interested in reading it? It would be a Hayffie-set-in-High-School AU fic. Riddled with my favorite love-hate cliche undertones. It would be a giant ball of angsty fluff!**

**Let me know what you think! Are you interested in seeing something like that? If you are, you can all thank waterpoolo8 for the inspiration/prompt. :) Also, the classic "druggie-cheerleader" cliche.**

**I'd love some feedback! And thanks to all who reviewed the last bit! You all are so nice and wonderful. :)  
-Lullaby-**


	3. I Didn't Mean To Start A War

**Fixed some horrid typos I didn't notice before. So sorry about those!**

**This one has a much different tone. It could be considered as part of the Hayffie Challenge Prompt: Effie is the mastermind behind the rebellion.**

**But Effie is more like a catalyst in this fic. Hm...**

**Regardless, I hope you enjoy it! It was interesting to write. :)**

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_Title: I Didn't Mean To Start A War  
Summary: Effie didn't think a name could be so much trouble. She didn't know it would spark a Rebellion.  
Rating: T for language  
Pairings: Hayffie. Implied Haysilee if you squint with your head tilted to the left.  
Disclaimer: I do not own Haymitch, Effie, or anything else related to the Hunger Games. -Sigh-_

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Haymitch was a drunk. It was a simple, well-known fact. It would be like stating that the sky is blue, or the grass is green—blatantly obvious. But unlike the pretty blue sky and the luscious green grass, Effie hated Haymitch's debauchery. It disgusted her. She didn't understand the reason for it, other than it was to mask some sort of misery. What could make him so miserable? After all, he was a Victor. Why did he feel the need to be a sloppy drunk?

Only it wasn't sloppy. Effie thinks that maybe her compulsion for organization makes her hallucinate, but after working with him for so long, she begins to see patterns in his drinking. Wine, whisky, and brandy were strictly for mealtimes; scotch for televised viewings of any sort; beer and rum for Ceremonies; flasks of white liquor or multiple, _multiple_ glasses of wine for parties. The especially hard stuff was for the night before the launch. Then he would space out the vodka until both Tributes died—they always did.

But nothing, _nothing_ compared to the Reaping. That was when Haymitch was at his absolute worst. It baffled Effie. The Reapings were exciting! Why would anyone want to be out of their right mind for such an event? Although, if she were being truthful, his lack of sobriety during the Reaping didn't start getting particularly serious until the year of the Seventieth Hunger Games.

When she had gone to his house in the Victor's Village to wake him up, she knew something wasn't right the minute she opened his door. There was something heavy hanging in the air (and it wasn't just the thick stench of alcohol and vomit seeping through her nostrils). She found him passed out in the bathtub—nothing too unusual. It was when he awoke that she felt an odd sort of dread pass through her.

She dumped the water, as usual. He woke up flailing and swearing, as usual. And she reminded him it was time for the Reaping, _as usual_. But this time, he didn't make any sarcastic comments. He didn't laugh bitterly or mock her enthusiasm. Instead he stared at her solemnly, a terrifying and haunting expression pouring out of those hypnotizing grey eyes (she always did love his eyes).

It tugged at something in her heart. Though she wasn't terribly fond of his habits, she'd admit—only to herself and certainly never to _him_—that she was rather fond of him. She may have even liked him a little…a lot. And he looked so wretched; she couldn't stop herself from putting a compassionate yet confused hand on his shoulder and saying his name.

It seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he had been in. He immediately jumped away from her, his normal brash demeanor taking over once more. He grabbed a bottle of white liquor from, well she didn't know where, and muttered a, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, sweetheart. I'll be there armed and ready, same as always. Don't get your panties in a twist."

It wasn't the same as always. Perhaps it was the unconscious display of humanity he showed in his house that morning, but she paid unusually close attention to him during the Reaping. The haunted expression was back on his face, with flushed cheeks and glassy, bloodshot eyes added onto it. He was obviously drunk. Yet his eyes were oddly focused. Focused on only one thing throughout the entire introduction about the origin of the Hunger Games. Effie followed his gaze. She was surprised to find that he had been staring so worriedly at a young girl. She was so little; she must have been twelve years old. She had curly blonde hair and almond-shaped dark blue eyes. She had on a plain white dress, plain white shoes, but a not-so-plain gold pin. _What was it about this child that had him so transfixed_?

She meant to ask him after the Reaping, but she never got the chance. He was so intoxicated that even she began to feel woozy. But that haunted expression never left his face, even after the uncharacteristic sigh of relief he heaved before they had boarded the train to the Capitol. It was present throughout the entire Games.

The next year was a first. They were at the Reaping, and he was very, very, _very_ drunk. He was at his fury-stage. She never did like this stage of his. She had seen him get into many a brawl during this period. It made her uncomfortable, but never frightened. Not once had he ever come after _her_. He insulted her, made her cry, but he never laid a hand on her. Never.

His eyes were still tortured. He stared at the little blonde girl, now a year older, for a few minutes. During the video presentation, he positively seethed. His glare shifted from Effie to the female's Reaping ball. Sometimes when Haymitch would stare at Effie, she would feel like she was on fire, but in a good way. This time, however, she felt the fire, but it was not pleasant. She felt scorched—like she would turn to ash any minute.

She supposed she should have noticed something was off when he stood as she walked towards the female's Reaping ball. He never drew the names with her. But she thought nothing of it. Perhaps he wanted to greet the Tributes this year? (But that was silly, because he never has before.) She thinks she may have heard him growl, but that could have also been her empty stomach. Just as she was about to plunge her hand into the ball, she felt the wind knocked out of her.

Haymitch violently shoved her away from the glass globe. She was so shocked, she lost her footing in her heels and landed right on her neon orange backside. Her equally orange wig teetered to the side, but she was too surprised and hurt to care. _He actually pushed me_. Haymitch was yelling incoherently at her. Perhaps they were actual words, but the roar of confusion was too great in her ears to properly hear them. She could only stare at the drunken mentor, wide-eyed and trembling.

Whatever he said must have been more violent than his shove because he was soon hauled away by four Peacekeepers. Effie watched on in silence as he struggled to get out of their grasp, his shouts suddenly turning desperate and fearful. She knows that time they weren't actual words. Only muddled and very loud thoughts. She couldn't help but feel terrified as she watched him being dragged away. Though she wasn't terrified because for the first time in ten years of working together he actually got physical with her, but because she knew he was going to be punished for his complete lack of conduct. Who knew what lay before him?

Of course, being Effie Trinket, she quickly scrambled to her feet, straightened her wig and dress, and proceeded with the Reaping with the dignity of a queen. But she couldn't stop worrying about what was going to happen to Haymitch.

They only suspended his alcohol privileges for the entire duration of the Games. Of course, Effie knew how bad that actually was, but it was certainly better than what she had thought it was going to be. Haymitch was furious, naturally. He finally stopped his tantrum when he realized it was futile.

Effie caught a subtle glimpse into why Haymitch had been acting so strangely the last couple of years the night before the launch. Haymitch was exhausted. He hadn't slept in days due to his lack of liquor. She was surprised to see him more open when he was exhausted. To keep himself from sleeping that night, he opted to watch the recap of the Games thus far. They, of course, started with the Reapings.

Haymitch was stone-faced when it came to District Twelve. Effie didn't look at him, but she could feel his gaze on her. They sat in an awkward silence.

"How bad did I hurt ya, princess?" he asked gruffly.

She turned to him, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Well, you certainly embarrassed me in front of all of Panem." _You had me worried sick about your mental well-being_. "But other than my pride…you didn't hurt me much."

He nodded. He didn't apologize. Effie didn't really expect him to. She knew he felt a little guilty. He wouldn't have brought it up if he didn't. If he was indifferent, or even proud of it, he would have laughed. She bit her lip. "Why did you do it, Haymitch?"

His answer was so soft she knew she wasn't truly meant to hear it. She did anyway. "I couldn't let you draw her name."

The Seventy-Second Annual Hunger Games approached. Effie didn't quite understand what Haymitch had meant the year before, but she knew it had something to do with that little blonde girl, the one with the pin. Her suspicions were confirmed the night before the Seventy-Second Reaping.

She and Haymitch were at the mayor's mansion working out the final kinks for the ceremony the next day. They were just about to leave when they heard a lovely tune coming from the parlor. They turned (the parlor was just diagonal from the front door) and had a perfect view of that little blonde playing the piano. She looked considerably older although it had only been a year. She was starting to show signs of becoming a young woman—an early bloomer.

Effie was entranced by the music. It was beautiful. But it didn't tune out Haymitch's whisper, "Heaven above, Undersee. She looks just like her."

"Indeed she does, Haymitch," the mayor replied.

She didn't know who they were talking about, but Effie admitted the girl looked remarkably familiar. Whoever it was must have been significant because the next day Haymitch was positively 'hammered' as he would say. He was so clearly unhappy. It broke Effie. She didn't even mind helping his staggering body into the train. What was it about this child that so haunted this typically strong man? And what on earth was Effie missing?

She laid him onto his bed in his room cart. She sighed and began to leave his quarters. Before she could take a step, she felt a hand grasp her wrist. She looked down at Haymitch with a silent question on her face. He looked back up at her in distress. He would only let her see him vulnerable when he wasn't conscious of his decisions. Soon he would be revert to his crass and infuriating behavior. And she desperately wanted that to be soon.

"The girl Tribute," he murmured. "What's her name?"

Effie's forehead creased. He never cared about the Tributes, let alone their names. "Ivy Gladsow."

Haymitch let out a breath and let go of her hand. "Not Madge," he whispered. He covered his eyes with the hand that previously held her wrist. "Not Madge."

_Madge_?

That must be the young girl with the pin. Why on earth he was concerned about her name being drawn would forever be a mystery to Effie. Aside from obviously being the mayor's daughter, Effie saw nothing special about the pretty little thing. She clearly reminded Haymitch of someone from his past. But who could it possibly be? Why was she so special? (And why did Effie feel a twinge of jealousy?)

The next year, Haymitch had passed out before the Reapings even began. It frightened Effie. She'd seen him passed out numerous times; but this time it was different. She didn't know how she knew. He said nothing special, he did nothing special. Haymitch gave no inclination whatsoever that this particular year was especially awful. But she knew Haymitch, and she knew his patterns. Because whether he liked it or not, he was a creature of habit. And he never, _never_ blacked out before the Reapings. He would always save it for afterwards.

This fear caused Effie to spend the entire night watching out for Haymitch. It's not like he'd remember anyway. The Tributes would never say a word. The Avoxes _couldn't_ say a word. She sat by his bed while he thrashed during his drunken nightmares. She dabbed his forehead with a cool cloth as his body tried so hard to sweat the alcohol out of his system. And for the first time, she held his head while he vomited violently into his toilet. It broke her heart to see Haymitch ruin himself. Was this all because of that girl?

She held back his dark curls as he let out one last painful wretch. He wasn't only vomiting alcohol—he was vomiting his panic. Why else would he drink so much? This year he took to Everclear. He only saved the super strong stuff for his most desolate days. But was it worth it to spend the night purging?

"Why?" she whispered as she wiped away the remains on his chin. She tried not to gag herself. She met his silver eyes with tears shining in her own, needing to understand. "Why do you do this to yourself, Haymitch?"

He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the toilet seat. This was the only time he'd tell her the truth. Liquor could never hide his lies—not with her. "I can't watch her die twice."

He heaved again, barely turning his head in time. Effie caught his head. She bit her lip hard and blinked at the ceiling. He couldn't keep this up much longer. She needed to know the reason he put himself through this torture. She'd never be able to properly help him if she didn't fully understand.

Effie purposely arrived early for the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games Reaping. She explained to Mayor Undersee that it was to make sure all of the names were in proper order, and that every name was accounted for. She made up a lie that another District had purposely left off a few names. As the District Twelve escort, she had to ensure the Capitol that such a mistake would not happen to them.

He led her to the name log computer in the Justice Building. She thanked him and waited until he left. She straightened her bubble-gum pink wig, took a deep breath, and began to search through the list of female names.

_Delly Cartwright…Janice Davenport…Rosemary Emerson…Primrose Everdeen—oh what a beautiful name! So lovely._ Effie kept scrolling until she got to the section she wanted. _The U's! Let's see, Ulrich…Umbridge…_Aha! Undersee. Margaret Undersee.

_Margaret_? She was sure Haymitch said Madge. Perhaps it was a nickname. Effie clicked on Margaret Undersee's name to look at the history. Ah, yes. It was her. The identification picture confirmed it. It was indeed the pretty blonde with the gold pin. The pretty blonde with eerily familiar features. Who could she be?

Effie looked at her family's names. She had no siblings—she was an only child. A father: Mayor Jack Undersee. A mother: Marjorie Donner Undersee.

_Donner_? The name tugged at Effie's memory. Curious, she clicked on Marjorie's name to bring up her family. A mom: Cinnamon (how interesting). A father: William. And one sister—a twin.

Effie's eyes widened in recognition. _Maysilee Donner_. _Of course_! That's where Effie had seen her! Maysilee even had the gold pin Margaret had been wearing. To be positive, Effie quickly clicked on Maysilee's information.

_Name: Maysilee Anne Donner_

_ Age: 15_

_ Status: Deceased_

_ Cause of Death: Killed in Fiftieth Annual Hunger Games (Second Quarter Quell)_

Effie leaned back in her chair, stunned by the revelation. It all made sense now. Haymitch's staring, his remark about Margaret's resemblance to Maysilee (which really was quite uncanny), how he couldn't watch her die twice. If Margaret were to be Reaped, Haymitch would have to watch her die (because, really, when did any of District Twelve's Tributes live?) just as he watched Maysilee die all those years ago.

If Haymitch were to watch Margaret die… Effie shuddered. She didn't want to think about what it would do to his fragile state of mind. She quickly shut down the log system and high-tailed it out of the Justice Building. She thought she'd feel better now knowing why Haymitch drowned himself during the Reaping. But she didn't. She felt worse. Because despite the calloused front he liked to put on, she knew just how sensitive he was. He probably thought she knew nothing of his past, but she knew a lot more than he'd feel comfortable sharing. After all, she was the one who helped him when he was in a drunken stupor. She was the one who heard him talk in his sleep. She was the only one who knew how often he sleep-talked about Maysilee.

And she was the only one who understood that this man would not stop drinking himself into oblivion until this blonde with the gold pin turned nineteen. Effie could only pray he wouldn't drink himself to death until then. Because even though he couldn't watch Margaret die, Effie would never be able to watch Haymitch die.

She kept her cheerful attitude during the Reaping. Everything went normally. The District was unnecessarily dismal. Nothing was out of the ordinary until she reached into the girl's Reaping ball. She dramatically swirled her fingers around the pieces of paper. She finally plucked one out, her magenta nails popping out against the white. She took the slip back to the stand and unfolded it to read the name.

The moment her eyes and mind read the name, Effie felt her entire world crash around her. _No_!

_Margaret Undersee_.

Effie couldn't. She simply couldn't read this name aloud. Margaret would go into the Hunger Games. She would fight. She would die. Haymitch would watch helplessly. He would watch in a liquor-induced haze (if he was lucky enough to be conscious). He would blame himself for Maysilee—because Effie knew he did—all the while blaming himself for Margaret's sure fate. Soon Haymitch would seal his own. The human mind can only take so much guilt before it literally ate them alive.

Effie couldn't do this to Haymitch. She cared about him too much. Whatever he thought of her, in her heart of hearts, she adored him. She couldn't ruin his life. He claimed multiple times that she ruined the lives of children simply by reading their names. She would never ruin his by doing the same thing. She has to do this for him. She couldn't say Margaret Undersee's name.

This train of thought lasted seconds—no one would be the wiser. No one would sense Effie's inner turmoil. She masked the nanosecond pause with a clear of her throat. She blurted out the very first name she thought—a beautiful name, a lovely name.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

Effie's eyes widened a centimeter after her fateful words. She couldn't believe she had done that. Well, she could—it was for Haymitch, after all. She'd do anything for him. But she didn't realize until that moment that…that she just took away someone else's chance to live. She took away a Primrose Everdeen's chance to live when it should have been Margaret Undersee going off to the arena.

Effie thinks she may understand what Haymitch meant. She _did_ ruin lives. And she just ruined this mysterious Primrose's life. The guilt was overwhelming, but not enough to take it back. She couldn't take it back if she wanted.

"I volunteer!" a voice screamed. "I volunteer as Tribute!"

Effie was too stunned to speak clearly. She stuttered and stammered, a first for her. She was usually so poised. But how could she be poised and collected at a time like this? She took a life and now another was trying to volunteer in place. Did this make two lives? All because of a Margaret Undersee? Would anyone have volunteered for Margaret?

Her guilt was only worsened when she saw the girl Tribute—Katniss, she had said—come out of the goodbye hall with Margaret's gold pin. It would forever be a reminder to Effie that she had sent an innocent girl into the arena when it should have been someone else.

But then she would force herself to remember that she did it for Haymitch.

_Haymitch_!

He was Katniss's only hope. Katniss didn't deserve to die. While Effie refused to regret her split decision, she refused to let Katniss die when she didn't have to. And the only way for Katniss to live was for Katniss to win. For that, she would need Haymitch.

It took an hour of fighting, but Effie finally got Haymitch to agree to train the two Tributes properly _if_ they proved they had what it takes. She honestly didn't know how she was able to convince him. She truly didn't think she would. But somehow he agreed. And she wasn't about to complain. As long as the girl survived, everything would be alright.

Effie was utterly shocked to see that Katniss _did_ survive. Not just her, but the boy as well! She was so shocked she actually jumped up from her chair in the viewing room and gave Haymitch a big hug. When he hesitantly and awkwardly returned the hug, she knew she made the right decision in purposefully reading the wrong name.

The feeling didn't last long. All of her shame, guilt, and regret (_no_, she will _not_ regret it) came flooding back when President Snow announced the Third Quarter Quell. Katniss would be returning to the arena. _Haymitch_ could return to the arena. They could die. (And she thinks that maybe Haymitch had been right all along about how vile and corrupt the Capitol and the Hunger Games truly were.)

There was no way she could pretend to read a different name. Katniss only had one slip. She supposed she could read Peeta's name if she drew Haymitch's name. But Effie knew Haymitch would never forgive her if he found out. He wouldn't want her fighting his battles. Not that it would have mattered. When she drew his name, she was so distraught she couldn't _help_ but read his name off that murderous slip.

Her guilt was only multiplied when she felt utter joy when Peeta volunteered for Haymitch. (And she thinks that maybe Haymitch had been right all along about how vile and corrupt _she_ truly was.)

Effie immediately knew she was in grave danger when the Peacekeepers came for her just minutes before the Third Quarter Quell would begin. She locked eyes with Haymitch for a moment. There was a hint of apprehension in his gaze, and she knew she had been right. She was in very grave danger.

They led her to President Snow. She was left alone in a room with him. The only thing he said to her was, "Tell me, Ms. Trinket. What's in a name?"

Effie felt her insides freeze. "I'm sorry?" she squeaked.

"I'm sure you're well aware of the Rebellion on the rise, Ms. Trinket." She wasn't. There was a Rebellion? "After all, my dear. You were the cause of it."

Effie furrowed her eyebrows in terrified confusion. "I don't understand."

President Snow smiled calmly. "Now don't be coy, Ms. Trinket. If you hadn't misread Margaret Undersee's name during last year's Reaping—" _Oh no_. "—Katniss would never have been a Victor. She would never be the face of the Rebellion." President Snow tilted Effie's chin up with his index finger. He physically relished the fear she knew was plain as day in her eyes. "Since you were the start of this, my dear, it's clear you must know something. And I intend to extract every bit of information you possess." He brought his puffy lips to her ear and whispered, "Even if I have to do it by force."

Effie could feel herself shaking.

Snow stepped back and smiled. "In fact, I think I'll let you do the honors. You chose the Mockingjay. It's only fair to let you choose your own torture, don't you think, my dear?"

Effie watched in horror as he pressed a buzzer on his desk. The doors opened and two Peacekeepers came in the room with a Reaping ball filled with numerous slips of paper. Each one of those slips had written on it a different method of torture. Effie's shaking became more violent. And she would have to pick one herself. _There were so many_. She struggled not to throw up.

"Oh, and Ms. Trinket?" Effie forced her eyes to Snow. He flashed his teeth in a broad grin, the light glistening cruelly against his pearly teeth. "Do try not to misread this time."

Darkness surrounded her. It choked her, suffocated was absolute. She couldn't even close her eyes to escape the horror of total and utter blackness. She tried to force her mind to think about anything, _anything_ but the darkness. But she could only think about Margaret Undersee.

This was all Effie's fault. She forced an innocent girl into the Hunger Games. Twice. She forced a seventeen-year-old to become the symbol of a Rebellion. She forced a civil war. The guilt was so fierce, so asphyxiating it tortured her more than the darkness. There were times she wished she could die to ignore the guilt.

When President Snow told her that Haymitch had been killed Effie lost whatever will to live she previously had.

Before she died, she dreamt of Haymitch. She dreamt he came to her rescue. Part of Effie was happy he came for her in her dreams. Most of her was distraught because _she didn't deserve to live_. But he had to know. Before she died he had to know she didn't mean it. She didn't mean any of it. She didn't want to be a murderer.

She tried to clutch his shirt, but she was so weak. "Haymitch," she whimpered. Her voice was so low. But he heard it. If she still had a beating heart, she's sure it would have melted at the look of pure worry he gave her.

"It's alright. Just stay with me, sweetheart," he said.

_I will. Once I die I'll be with you forever_. "I'm sorry, Haymitch." If she wasn't so dehydrated she was positive tears would be flowing freely down her vomit and sweat encrusted cheeks. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I didn't." She took in one last shuddering breath. "I didn't."

Effie lived. She didn't know how she lived, but she did. When she woke up, she was told she was in District Thirteen. The war was over. She was healthy again (she must have been in an IV-coma for a very, very, very long time). As soon as she was able, she was to help Katniss get ready for Snow's assassination. If it wasn't such bad manners she would have yelled at the hospital staff. She wanted to die and they wouldn't let her.

She thought briefly about overdosing on her pain medications when her bedroom door opened. She turned and the world stopped. Every rational thought left her mind.

"Hey, princess," Haymitch greeted gruffly. "I'm here to show you to Katniss's room so you can do your, you know, escort thing."

Effie slowly walked toward him, hardly believing he was real. "You're alive?" she whispered.

He furrowed his brows. "'Course I'm alive. Couldn't say the same for you. You almost died three—Eff?"

Effie brought a trembling hand to his olive-skinned face. He felt real. She brought her other hand to the other side of his face. He stared at her blankly. She felt every inch of his face with her fingertips. His cheeks, his chapped lips, his dark stubble (oh, how she loved the scratchy texture). She ran her hands through his curls—he swallowed thickly, refusing to break his gaze.

"I thought I killed you," she murmured.

Something unidentifiable flashed through Haymitch's eyes. Instead of saying something, he grabbed her wrists and took a step back. He cleared his throat. "Time to go, princess."

She'd follow him anywhere.

She ended up following him to District Twelve to see off Katniss. She wasn't going to stay. She only came along to make sure everyone made it safely. She'd return to the Capitol the next day.

When Katniss was safely deposited into her house in the Victor's Village, Effie joined Haymitch in a walk around the demolished District. He didn't say he wanted her with him, but he didn't object either. She just didn't want to be alone. Perhaps he didn't want to be alone either.

It was awful. There were so many burnt buildings, decaying bodies. Effie could feel the tears trickle down her face the farther they walked. She wanted to leave, but she made herself continue. After all, she caused this destruction. She needed to see the consequences of her actions. She could handle it.

She couldn't.

Haymitch stopped in front of what used to be the Mayor's mansion. Effie didn't know whose it was until he told her. As soon as the word Undersee passed his lips, Effie fell to her knees. She didn't even care that her new dress was getting soiled. She couldn't even cry. Her grief was too great. _Poor little Margaret_.

"This is all my fault," she deadpanned.

Haymitch smashed his empty bottle to the ground and swore. Effie flinched. "That's it, Eff. I've had enough of this mystery blame game on yourself. You've been saying things like, 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to,' and 'This is my fault' since we got you to District Thirteen. I don't know what it means. So please, sweetheart, would you care to enlighten me?"

Effie shook her head. "I killed Margaret."

Haymitch scrunched his face. "Margaret? You mean Madge?" Effie nodded. He swore again. "See, Eff, this is what I mean! I don't get it! How could you have killed Madge? What, because of this bombing? How could that even be your fault? You never got your pristine Capitol hands dirty. All you did was read names off a little slip of paper."

Effie jumped up. She jabbed a finger in Haymitch's chest. "Exactly! That's exactly what I did! Do you know what that slip of paper said at the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, Haymitch?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You talkin' about Prim's name?"

"It didn't say Primrose Everdeen!" she shouted. "It said _Margaret_. It said _Margaret Undersee_."

Haymitch's eyes hardened. "That's not funny, princess."

"I'm not lying! I looked on the roster for the Games a week before the Reaping. I remember seeing Primrose's name and thought it was such a beautiful name. I drew Margaret's name during the Reaping." Effie shook her head again, the tears at last beginning to fall. "I couldn't say her name. So I said the first name I thought of which was Primrose." She laughed bitterly. "And the rest is history!"

Haymitch's expression was unreadable. "What do you mean?"

Effie choked out a sob. "Don't you see, you insufferable inebriate? Because I didn't say Margaret's name, that made Katniss volunteer for Prim. That's why President Snow tortured me. He said that because I 'misread' the slip, I started a Rebellion. And all of _this_—" she gestured a hand to the District rubble "—happened in consequence."

He continued to stare at her. "So without you, the Rebellion may never have happened."

Her shoulders slumped. She nodded. "It's all my fault."

"Had you said Madge's name, Katniss would never have volunteered. We would never have had our Mockingjay. The Rebellion would never have acted. The war would never have happened."

Effie looked at her pumps. "I didn't mean to start a war," she whimpered.

Haymitch remained silent. He sighed. "Why did you do it, Eff?" he asked, his voice raw. "Why didn't you say Madge's name?"

"I knew her significance with you. I knew she reminded you of Maysilee. I couldn't let you watch her die twice. It would have killed you if Margaret died in the Games." Effie brought her eyes to meet his. He was staring back at her in shock. She bit her lip, but kept eye contact. "I couldn't let you die, Haymitch—metaphorically and physically."

"Effie…"

"I know!" she shouted, glaring at the debris. "It didn't matter. Margaret died anyway. I sent an innocent girl into the Games instead. Then she ended up being the leader in a war. Her sister got killed. _I_ killed her. I killed Prim. I killed Margaret." Effie put her face in her hands. "If it wasn't for me _none_ of this would have happened! This is _all my fault_!"

"Hey!" Haymitch shouted. He tore her hands off her face. He gripped her shoulders and forced her to look at him. "You listen to me, sweetheart. What happened to Prim was _not_ your fault. Coin did that, and Katniss got her revenge for it. Will it bring Prim back? No. But you had _nothing_ to do with it. What happened to Madge wasn't your fault either. That was all Snow. You didn't do anything." Effie turned her face away. Haymitch grabbed her chin and gently jerked her face back to his. "No, I'm not finished yet. Would the Rebellion have happened without you? No, probably not. Not for a long time, anyway. But that doesn't make it a bad thing, sweetheart."

Effie's jaw dropped. "I started a _war_, Haymitch! Because of me thousands of people lost their lives!"

"Effie, if that war hadn't happened do you know where we'd be today?" His grip tightened. "We'd still have the Hunger Games, Eff. Snow would still be alive. Hundreds of children would still be forced to kill each other. Now Panem is at peace. We have a future ahead of us, sweetheart. A future without the threat of death looming over everyone. So trust me, princess, what you did was a good thing."

"But what about—"

"What about what, sweetheart? The deaths? The bombing? Madge? Yeah, a lot of shitty things happened. There's nothing you can really do about that. But _none of that_ was your fault, you hear me? Some bad shit had to go down. But now we can live in peace. We don't have to worry about anything anymore, sweetheart." Haymitch's eyes softened. "Because of you the Hunger Games are over. Because of you we can afford to look ahead. You did a _good thing_. And I don't want to hear you blaming yourself anymore, you got me? I didn't risk my neck to save you from the Capitol just so you could spend the rest of your life wallowing in unnecessary self-loathing." He released his grip and looked out into the District.

Effie gave a small grin. She felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. The guilt was still there, but maybe it would go away over time. Haymitch did have a point. And he _did_ save her. She could repay him by moving on.

Effie frowned. "Haymitch…"

He grunted and looked back at her.

"Why _did_ you save me from the Capitol?"

Haymitch averted his eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck, and if she wasn't mistaken, Effie could swear his ears were turning the slightest bit pink. He swore under his breath. "Because, sweetheart."

Effie's lips thinned. "Because why, Haymitch?"

He sighed. "Because." He met her eyes, his expression filled with such an intensity it made Effie struggle to breathe. He lifted his hand to her face. He traced a faint scar on her temple with his thumb. "Because I couldn't let you die, either, princess."

Effie let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. "Really?"

He nodded. "Really." He rested his forehead against hers. "I'm proud of you, sweetheart."

Warmth spread all throughout Effie's insides. As she and Haymitch remained like that, foreheads leaning against each other, the feeling of positive change in the air, Effie thinks she may be able to accept what she had done. One day she may even have to thank the little blonde. The girl who unknowingly sparked a rebellion. The girl who may have helped blossom a new relationship on the horizon. The girl with the gold pin—a mockingjay in her own right.

Margaret Undersee.

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**I don't have much to say about this one. It's different, that's for sure. I enjoyed writing it, but I don't know about the ending. I feel like it's so random. I tried to get in a Hayffie kiss, but I couldn't. It just didn't fit into the mood of the story. :P**

**Well, I hope you all enjoyed it. :) Please review and tell me what you thought!**

**-Lullaby-**

**P.S. To those of you who have reviewed: Heaven above, I love you guys SO MUCH! I give you all a million huggles, cookies, and cupcakes! -Muah!-**


	4. Sure Thing, Cupcake

**Drabble-ish/Oneshot.**

**Okay, I had _wayyyyy_ too much fun writing this. I seriously don't know where this came from, but here you go. Written in response to the Hayffie Challenge Prompt Four: Cupcakes.**

**Just...I don't know, guys. I really hope you enjoy it. It's legit weird.**

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_Title: Sure Thing, Cupcake  
Summary: The sight of Effie eating a cupcake makes Haymitch excruciatingly hungry.  
Rating: T for language and minor sexuality  
Pairings: So much Hayffie I'm gonna die.  
__Disclaimer: I do not own Haymitch, Effie, or anything else related to the Hunger Games. -Sigh__-_

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Haymitch staggered into the penthouse kitchen. He was out of whiskey. He needed another bottle stat. If he could just remember where the liquor cabinet was… He shook his head to clear the foggy haze surrounding him. On the plus side, he was pretty damn wasted. On the down side, he was so wasted he might not be able to take out another bottle. He should probably just call it a night for the drinks.

_Pft._ Hell no.

Haymitch gave his head one last shake. Ah, there we go. He was fine. He could make it. He at last arrived to the glorious liquor cabinet. He was about to open it to take out his favorite whiskey—favorite for the night anyway; they all seemed to blend together after the third bottle—when he heard the strangest little noise. He could only describe it as a sigh of pleasure. Odd, he thought he had been alone.

He turned his head in the direction of the dining table. Who would be up at this hour besides him? Frowning curiously, he made his way over. He got his answer in the form of a fluffy pink wig and bright, colorful makeup. Of course it would be Effie. She must have been up late doing some paperwork or other and decided to indulge herself in a midnight snack. Sure enough, as Haymitch got closer, he found her eating a cupcake.

No way, there were cupcakes in this place? He friggin' loved cupcakes! Other than his alcohol, cupcakes were one of the few things that brought pleasure to his life. They always reminded him of his childhood—life before he won the Games. His mom would always save enough money to buy a single cupcake from the Mellark bakery for his or his little brother's birthday. It always made life in the Seam a little cheerier. They reminded him of his family. He loved his family. He loved his life before becoming a Victor. And he frigging. Loved. Cupcakes.

Haymitch was about to go on a search for the nostalgic dessert, but he found himself oddly rooted to his spot. Apparently Effie loved cupcakes just as much as he did. She was munching on the baked delicacy with her magenta-shadowed eyes closed, completely oblivious to Haymitch's presence. Which was fine with him. She was frightfully fascinating at the moment, and he couldn't stop watching her.

She was almost done with the sugary confection. She took a bite from the little she had left, slowly savoring each nibble. There was a small smile on her pink lips. She let out a sigh of ecstasy through her nose after she swallowed. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips. Haymitch licked his own lips in time with her, his eyes watching her every move. He suddenly felt _very_ hungry. And he was very interested in that little glob of white icing at the bottom right corner of her mouth that she didn't quite catch.

She slowly—_oh, so slowly_—licked the top of what remained of her cupcake. She caught every inch of frosting on her tongue and returned it to the inside of her mouth. Haymitch _really_ wanted to know what flavor it was. (Vanilla? White cherry? Buttercream?) Effie stuffed the rest of the cupcake in her mouth, her frosting covered thumb along with it. She gradually slid out her finger, the frosting licked clean. She moved on to her index finger.

As Haymitch observed Effie sucking her index finger, he felt a fire begin in the pit of his stomach and his skin begin to tingle. He was really, _really_ hungry, and he was _craving_ a cupcake. The icing still caught on the bottom corner of Effie's smirking lips was beginning to look extremely appetizing.

As if she finally sensed she was no longer the only occupant in the room, Effie slowly blinked her eyes open. Haymitch smirked. She looked quite comical. Her lips were puckered, her finger still lodged in her mouth, and her dark blue eyes were open wide, horrified she had been caught with such poor table manners. She yanked her finger out her mouth with a resounding _smack_!

"Haymitch!" she squeaked, utterly flustered. "I sincerely apologize you saw me so inappropriately. I—Why are you staring at me like that?"

Because he was starving. Just minutes ago she was eating in front of him. And by the way she was devouring the cupcake, it was obviously delicious. And he wanted some _now_. More importantly…his eyes zeroed in on the frosting on her lip. More importantly, he wanted frosting. It always was the best part of the sweet treat.

Haymitch slowly bent towards her, his eyes flickering up to her saucer-shaped ones. His smirk grew. "Like what, sweetheart?"

Her breaths were shallow. The closer he came, the more she backed into her chair. "Like…like _that_!"

He raised an amused eyebrow. "I'm not quite sure I know what you mean." His voice was husky.

She seemed to be at a loss for words. _That's a first_. She bit her lip. His gaze switched again to her lips. He desperately wanted to know how that cupcake tasted. He grabbed her face with his right hand. The pressure of his thumb and four fingers on either side of her cheeks made her lips pucker slightly. He licked his lips. "You know you got a little frosting on your mouth, princess?" he murmured.

"Wha—?"

Haymitch didn't let Effie finish her sentence. He bent his face closer towards her and slowly grazed his tongue along her lower lip, licking the frosting off her skin. _Freaking. Delicious_. He wanted more. Effie drew in a deep gasp. He took this opportunity to firmly plant his open mouth onto hers, needing to taste more of that cupcake.

Effie stiffened, a tiny squeak erupting from her throat and into Haymitch's mouth. It made him all the hungrier. Soon she melted into him. Haymitch felt his veins tingle as she began to taste him. Effie couldn't be hungry—she just ate! She must be thirsty, and he _knew_ he tasted like liquor. Well, couldn't let a little lady go without, now could he?

Haymitch gradually skimmed the hand holding her face down her throat—her quickened pulse reignited the fire in his stomach—and to the back of her neck. He loved her little shiver. She brought her hands to his hair, her fingers entwining into his somewhat greasy curls.

He tasted her, and tasted her, desperate to quench this hunger that refused to be satiated. She responded all the more fervently. Heaven above, she tasted so damn _good_! Unfortunately, he needed oxygen. He could always get more later. He's sure to be hungry again. He broke away from her and straightened up, her hands sliding from his hair. She stared up at him stupefied, panting heavily.

"What was that about?" she whispered.

Haymitch shrugged, his desire for alcohol returning once more. "I love cupcakes." He turned around to retrieve his forgotten bottle of whiskey from the cabinet. "Just wanted to know if yours tasted as good as it looked," he sloppily hollered over his shoulder. He snatched the bottle from the shelf and took a long swig. He walked back to his room, the sight of a stunned Effie and the memory of her taste following after him.

* * *

Haymitch awoke with a splitting headache the next morning. Heaven above, how much did he drink last night? He couldn't remember. Well, looks like another day of drinking to reduce the splitting pain racking his skull. Sounds like a plan.

Yeah, except Effie was acting so weird around him all day he practically _couldn't_ drink. It was freaking him out! She'd hardly look at him, and whenever she would, she'd turn a bright shade of red and start rambling about something pointless. Geez, what did he _do_ last night? The last time Effie acted like this he had apparently accidentally walked in on her taking a shower, asking her why she was torturing an innocent animal (he assumed he was referring to her singing—she did like to sing in the shower once in a while). He didn't know why she got so freaked out. He didn't remember anything, so it's not like he could properly picture her stark naked.

Not that he'd _try_, but whatever.

By dinner time, he got so irritated he slammed his wine glass on the table (making his precious drink slosh over the rim) and yelled, "Dammit, Effie, just tell me what I did last night!"

She jerked her head towards him. She blinked rapidly. "I…I don't know what on earth you're talking about, Haymitch."

He sneered. "Princess, you've been acting weird around me all day. It's driving me nuts. Just out with it so we can move on with our lives, you crazy woman!"

"Nothing happened!" she shrilled.

Haymitch scoffed. "Come on, it couldn't have been that bad." Effie bit her lip and focused on the table. Okay, it obviously _was_ that bad. He rolled his eyes. "Alright, Eff, you clearly don't want to talk about it. Whatever I did, I'm sorry, okay? But it really shouldn't be that big of a deal. I don't remember it. I probably don't even want to know." Seriously, he really didn't. "But it's going to keep bugging me unless you start acting normal. Well, as normal as you can for _you_." Effie glared at him. "Seriously, princess. You don't want me to bring it up? Don't give me cause. Deal?"

Effie thinned her lips. "Fine. Will you please pass the wine?"

Haymitch snorted and handed her the bottle. "Sure thing, cupcake." They both paused. He furrowed his eyebrows and looked at Effie in confusion. Since when did he use _that_ term? Where did it even come from? Judging by Effie's reaction, it obviously came from whatever happened last night. She inhaled sharply, her face turning all sorts of red underneath her white powder. She covered her face with her hands, muttering some exclamation of embarrassment.

Yeah, Haymitch _really_ didn't want to know.

* * *

**And this proves that I REALLY need to stop writing past midnight.**

**I really have nothing to say for this other than...Uh, sorry. Welp, tell me what you think!**

**-Lullaby-**


	5. And One, Two, Three Unspoken Words

**I loved writing this. I really did.**

**For the Hayffie Challenge Prompt 24: Dance With Me and inspired by pages 79-80 in _Catching Fire _when Katniss mentions Effie teaching Katniss and Peeta some Capitol dances.**

**I hope you like it! It's nothing but shameless fluff. :)**

* * *

_Title: And One, Two, Three Unspoken Words  
Summary: Effie teaches Katniss and Peeta to dance with Haymitch's help. Hayffie fluff.  
__Rating: K  
Pairings: Hayffie. So much Hayffie.  
Disclaimer: I do not own Haymitch, Effie, or anything else related to the Hunger Games. -Sigh_-

* * *

"Now then," chirped Effie as she scribbled on her clipboard. It was brand new—gold, with a mockingjay in honor of Katniss and Peeta. She thought this would be a prime opportunity to showcase it to the public. They were on the Victory Tour, and mockingjays were quite in this season. They just returned to the train after District Two. Soon they would be in Effie's hometown where she could _really_ flourish her precious, new item. "Next we'll be stopping in District One, and then the Capitol!"

Haymitch snorted from his spot on the couch. He was sprawled out comfortably (though Effie thought inappropriately) with a glass of scotch in his hand. "You don't say, princess?"

Effie gave Haymitch a look, but other than that, paid him no mind. "I think you'll really enjoy the parties at the Capitol." She purposefully ignored the weary expressions on Katniss's and Peeta's faces. "The food is simply delightful, the company is fabulous, and the dancing is exhilarating!" She smiled widely at the two kids. "I sure hope you've been practicing your dance moves!"

Katniss shot Peeta a cautious look.

Peeta chuckled lightly and turned to Effie. "Do dances from District Twelve count?"

Effie waved a hand. "Oh, surely it would be no problem to show a few from your home. The Capitol would love to see something like that! But only a few. Of course, you'll really have to show how well you know Capitol dances."

Katniss furrowed her brows. "But we don't know any," she said with a scowl.

Effie started. "I beg your pardon? None?"

Haymitch scoffed into his glass. He wiped the corner of his mouth with his knuckle. "It's not exactly the first thing they teach you in school in District Twelve, sweetheart."

Effie clacked her fingernails against the back of her clipboard. She pressed her lips in a thin line. "Well, then. I suppose we'll just have to fix that."

The three Victors watched as Effie stood up and traipsed over to grab a remote on top of the television, suspicion written all over their faces.

"Um, Effie?" Peeta asked with hesitation. "What are you doing?"

Effie fiddled with the sleek remote, scrolling through options on the touch screen with her scarlet nails. "You're going to learn how to dance in Capitol style. And I'm going to teach you."

Peeta's eyebrows shot to his hairline. He exchanged a worried look with Katniss. They were both clearly thinking the same thing. While they were sure Effie was a competent dancer, they were wary of her teaching abilities. What kind of pandemonium would ensue when a perfectionist was to teach them the intricate combinations of a Capitol dance routine? A glance at Haymitch confirmed their suspicions. He was smirking, amusement clear on his lips.

The odds were not in their favor.

Peeta chuckled nervously. "Um, Effie, you really don't have to."

"Nonsense! The cameras will be on you two the whole time. You don't want the Capitol to think you know nothing of their dances, do you?" Effie's eyes lit up in recognition, obviously finding what she had been searching for on the odd remote. "It is extremely rude to travel somewhere and not make an effort to learn their customs."

Effie tapped the remote. Instantly music filled the cart. It was a lively, silly tune, with an accent on every fourth beat. She put the remote aside and beamed at the young boy and girl. She motioned for them.

"Now," she said in her escort voice once they joined her in the middle of the floor. Haymitch continued watching with a smirk. "This is called a foxtrot. It's my personal favorite!" She posed Katniss and Peeta in the proper partner formations. "It is a simple _one,_ two, three, four, _one_, two three, four."

Katniss glared at Peeta's chest in irritation. Peeta frowned in confusion. Neither had taken a step, not quite sure in which direction to go.

Effie hummed thoughtfully. "It would be best if I showed you as well. Haymitch!"

Haymitch nearly choked on his drink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, still spluttering. He glared at Effie.

She beckoned him with her index finger. "Come help me."

His glare intensified. "No way, princess."

She huffed. "Honestly, Haymitch. It won't kill you."

"I beg to differ."

"Well, there's no one else here. Who do you suggest I use?"

Haymitch's smirk returned. "Why don't you go find a dummy somewhere? They're the only creatures who would dare dance with you while you're wearing those death traps you call shoes."

Effie's eye twitched. "I'm already looking at a dummy." She resisted the urge to smile at Katniss's snort and Haymitch's glare. It wasn't often she was able to turn his words on him. "By your logic, you have to help."

Haymitch crossed his arms over his chest. "Forget it, sweetheart. I don't dance."

Effie pursed her lips. "That's probably true. I should have known you didn't have the ability."

"Hey, I said I _don't_ dance. Not _can't_. Did the weight from your obnoxious wig suffocate your brain to the point where you can't tell the difference?"

Before Effie could say another word, Peeta laughed, "Come on, Haymitch. Teach us to dance!"

Katniss allowed herself a small smile. "Think of it as mentoring us one last time."

"No."

Effie sighed in defeat. "I'll buy a bottle of your favorite wine."

Haymitch quirked an eyebrow. "Make it two. And you can't say a word about how much I drink for the rest of the Tour. Deal?"

Effie stared at him through narrowed eyes. "Fine."

Haymitch slapped his knees as he got up and stood in front of Effie. He gave a mean glare to his two snickering former Tributes. He shook his head and grumbled incoherent obscenities.

"Why don't we start from the beginning?" Effie pressed a button on the remote that restarted the song. She set it down and looked at Haymitch expectantly. "Haymitch?"

He rolled his eyes. He grudgingly rested his hand on her left hip and grabbed her right hand in his left. Effie sincerely hoped her blush didn't show. She couldn't help but notice the burning sensation on her hip underneath her crimson dress. She tried not to think about how much she loved the feel of her tiny hand in his rough, calloused one. But this was not the time, nor the place, to indulge in her personal feelings for the drunken mentor.

She cleared throat. "Now then. We will move in a small circle. And _one_, two, three…"

And so the lessons continued. At first, it was difficult. There were times when Haymitch would purposefully—she knew it was on purpose because of the mischievous glint in his grey irises—mess up a step. When he wasn't being ridiculous, Effie was surprised to find that he really was quite good. But as they progressed, Effie felt a change in the atmosphere—particularly in Haymitch's demeanor. He became more passive, more willing, as they continued dancing and as the dances got slower and less complicated. It was as if she had a truly willing dance partner.

But it was doing funny things to her head.

When they got to the waltz, Effie was amazed she was able to continue without a shake in her voice. The amount of space between the two had lessened considerably, though not enough to alert Katniss and Peeta (she hoped). His hold was firm, and his thumb was stroking the knuckle of the hand he was holding. He was looking at her in a way that made her stomach burst with butterflies.

She was both elated and disappointed when the song ended. She quickly stepped away from Haymitch. By the way he was looking at her, she knew he could sense the change. She quickly averted her eyes, choosing instead to focus her attention on Katniss and Peeta.

"Shall we move on?" she asked in a voice much higher than normal. She prayed no one noticed.

Peeta gave her an apologetic smile and stepped away from Katniss. They both looked dead on their feet. "Actually, Effie, we're getting pretty tired. It's been a long day. Do you think we could just head to bed?"

Effie blinked rapidly. "Oh! Oh, of course, you need to sleep! Tomorrow is a big, big, big day after all. District One! I've heard it's exquisite and there are many things to—"

"Thanks, Effie."

With that, Peeta took Katniss by the hand and they left the cart. She vaguely wondered if they were both going to Katniss's bedroom cart or if they would start out separately.

Once the door swished shut, Effie was struck by the awkwardness evident in the air. She and Haymitch said nothing. The only sound was the music shifting into a slower song—a song not used for any specific dance, but merely for the enjoyment of company.

Effie cleared her throat. She avoided Haymitch's eyes. "Well," she tittered. "I believe it's time we went to bed as well." _Not together, of course._ Effie internally smacked herself. She thanked the high heavens she didn't say that out loud. She reached out for the remote to turn off the music. Before she could reach it, she felt a hand grab a hold of her wrist. She met Haymitch's eyes in confused shock. Her heart raced at the intense look he was giving her.

"Dance with me, sweetheart," he said softly.

Effie was stunned into silence. It was so out of character for Haymitch, she could only nod numbly. He took her hand in his and placed his other on her hip just as before, only this time his grip wasn't limp in begrudging acquiescence. It was firm in an almost gentle possessiveness. He pulled her in close, never once letting his eyes leave hers. She swallowed thickly, wondering what on earth was going through his mind. This was so unlike him, but when would she ever get a chance like this again? So she allowed him to hold her (closer, she wanted to be closer) and lead her into a dance (something for which she always yearned).

It wasn't much of an elaborate dance. It was merely swaying side to side, occasionally turning in a circle. Effie's heart beat rapidly in her chest. She wondered if Haymitch could feel it. She felt inexplicably shy—almost like a young girl instead of a grown woman. He looked at her with an expression she couldn't identify, yet it was familiar in a way she could only hope for. She wouldn't let herself name it in case she was wrong, in case her hopes were crushed.

She finally let herself relax. She let herself get lost in Haymitch's embrace and the smooth, slow rhythm of the song. As if he could sense her change in spirit, Haymitch held her tighter. He bent his head until he was cheek to cheek with her, his stubble scraping against her skin. Her stomach fluttered in pleasure, her skin flaring into embarrassingly visible goosebumps. She could smell the light stench of alcohol on his shirt and skin, yet somehow it seemed right. It was Haymitch. And isn't he what she wanted in the first place?

He pressed his lips closer to her ear. She felt a tickle—she thought it might be his breath—when she heard a low, resonating sound. She realized he was humming. He was humming the song into her ear. She simply melted. She closed her eyes and leaned her cheek further against his.

"Haymitch," she murmured.

He nuzzled against her in response. It did horribly wonderful things to her.

_No. _No, this was wrong. No matter how much she wanted, _craved_, for this to happen, she knew it couldn't. She knew where she stood with Haymitch. She knew she loved him more than anything. But she didn't know what _he_ felt. It wasn't platonic, that much she knew. Perhaps he even loved her as well. But she wasn't stupid. No matter his feelings, Haymitch wasn't ready for a relationship. And she knew his prejudice against the Capitol would keep him from advancing in whatever…whatever was happening between them. And she wasn't about to invest herself in something that held virtually no weight.

_But you already _are_ invested._

Although it took every ounce of willpower in her, and her heart protested against it, she gently extricated herself from his arms. "Haymitch…I can't. I'm sorry." She slowly lifted her eyes to meet his.

He met her gaze evenly, jaw locked. His face looked hard, but his eyes were soft and accepting. She could see he understood. His thoughts were the same as hers. He knew just as well as she did that they weren't ready. Now wasn't the time. Maybe…maybe someday something could develop. But not now.

He nodded once. He gave a small, almost imperceptible, smirk. "Don't forget our deal."

Effie smiled softly. "I won't." She wouldn't. She would bring him the wine as promised. And she wouldn't speak a word about his drinking. She knew why he would be doing it this time. She was tempted to join him (but the results would be disastrous). "Good night, Haymitch."

Haymitch grunted and walked away. "Night, princess," he answered over his shoulder. He exited.

Effie turned off the music and followed shortly after. She got herself ready for bed slowly, lethargically, humming the last song. Once she was bare of all her Capitol decorations, she slipped into the silky pink sheets covering her bed. She replayed the dance over and over again in her mind. She closed her eyes and smiled sadly. It hurt to dwell on their relationship, but she wouldn't take away the dance for anything.

In fact, she's sure the waltz may be her new favorite dance.

* * *

**So, what did you think? I think I need some sleep. :)**

**It's not my best, and I can do better. But I had a lot of fun, and it was good to let off some steam from a mildly stressful weekend. I hope it brought some joy to yours!**

**Let me know your thoughts!**

**-Lullaby-**


	6. A Rebel's Grief

**A drabble-ish oneshot that's been in my head for a while. Angsty.**

**Fixed some ugly typos and grammar mistakes. Sorry for those!**

* * *

_Title: A Rebel's Grief  
Summary: "Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal." -Irish tombstone  
Rating: T for violence  
Pairings: Hayffie.  
Disclaimer: I do not own Haymitch, Effie, or anything else related to the Hunger Games. -Sigh-_

* * *

Haymitch Abernathy wasn't an emotional man. He didn't cry often. The only times Effie has ever seen tears stream down the man's face were after white liquor went down the wrong pipe or that one night fifteen years ago when he suffered from a particularly horrendous nightmare. All of his feelings were hidden by liquor and sarcasm. Nothing penetrated him. He was stone, steel, and steadfast.

So when Haymitch grieved for Chaff's death during the Third Quarter Quell, Effie felt something in her heart shatter.

Haymitch claimed to be a loner. He said he liked his solitude—he didn't need anyone other than a bottle. He didn't get close to people (which caused Effie more heartache than she'd care to admit) nor did he have any desire to even try. But he could deny his need for relational contact all he wanted. Whether or not he wanted to or meant to, Haymitch grew attached to Chaff. They were drinking buddies. They brawled together, laughed together, sometimes passed out together.

The fact was simple: Chaff and Haymitch were good friends. When they weren't making a raucous, their friendship made Effie smile. She saw a different side to the District Twelve mentor. She saw life and laughter, contentment and camaraderie. She understood better than anyone Haymitch's need for a kindred spirit. And he found one in Chaff. They were like brothers.

And Chaff's death hit Haymitch hard.

It was a brutal killing. One minute the District Twelve duo were watching Beetee explain an elaborate plan to his allies, the next a hidden camera was sprayed with dark red blood. Brutus commanded Enobaria to trail Katniss and Johanna. He was going after Peeta and Finnick. Once Enobaria headed for the beach, Brutus leaped into the jungle's foliage. He ran straight into Chaff who had a scythe poised and ready. But Chaff's experience with a scythe was no match for Brutus's inhuman strength and ability to weild a sword.

Chaff put up a good fight. He deflected Brutus's blows and landed a few good hits himself. Nothing fatal, but enough to distract the fighting machine. In the end, Chaff was simply too weak. Brutus faked a strike to the right. When Chaff raised his arm to block the hit, Brutus swung his sword and sliced off Chaff's one remaining hand. With a scream of agony Chaff dropped to his knees, cradling his limb in the crook of his other arm. With a roar, Brutus lunged at the weaponless Tribute. Chaff had only enough time to close his eyes in acceptance before Brutus beheaded him in one clean cut. The blood on the lens couldn't hide Chaff's rolling head.

Effie gasped in horror, bile rising in her throat. But the tears didn't come until she turned her blue eyes to Haymitch.

He swore loudly. Even the angry words couldn't hide the raw pain in his voice. It spoke of tears threatening to fall but refusing to break loose. Haymitch clenched the counter underneath the monitor. His knuckles were white, his muscles taut. He hunched over, his back rigid and stiff, and hung his shaking head. His hair was hiding his face, but Effie didn't need to see it to know he was suffering intense grief.

"_Stupid_, Chaff, _stupid_," he muttered. His voice was thick and laced with furious sorrow. He banged his fist with a roar. It was so loud it made Effie jump, her gold wig falling slightly to the right. She watched him in silence, tears streaming down her face. He stayed that way for a while before he finally unclenched his fist and returned to gripping the counter. Haymitch sighed. It was long, worn, and defeated. The closest to a sob he would get.

The sound broke Effie's heart. Without thinking about what she was doing, she moved toward him. Her heels made tiny _click-clacks_ in the otherwise quiet room. He didn't turn around, and for that, she was grateful. She stopped when she was directly behind him. She threaded her arms around his torso until her hands gripped his shoulders from the front. She rested her cheek against his back, stroking her thumbs against the rough fabric of his soiled shirt.

He tensed up immediately. Effie bit her lip but didn't let go. She waited for him to yell at her, say something insulting, or demand she step away from him. She wouldn't blame him. After all, they never really got along, and it was her people who killed the only living soul closest to him. (It filled her with a fury, and for the first time, shame about where she was raised.) She was surprised when he didn't pull away. Haymitch slowly relaxed, allowing Effie to comfort him.

"I'm sorry, Haymitch," she whispered into his back.

He brought a hand up awkwardly to pat hers. When it didn't quite work, he settled for grabbing it instead. Effie allowed herself a moment to relish the feel of her hand in his. "Me too, sweetheart," he murmured. His voice was still hard and free of tears. It didn't matter. Effie was shedding enough for the both of them.

They remained that way for a while. Haymitch staring blankly at the monitor while holding Effie's hand, and Effie holding onto Haymitch while crying into his shirt. Neither said anything. Nothing could be said. Effie transferred all she was feeling, all she couldn't say, into her embrace. Haymitch rarely let himself be solaced, even after his nightmares and while he was rip-roaring drunk. He mostly expressed annoyance at her attempts to comfort him (she was a worrier, it was in her nature). Needless to say, his next words shocked her.

"What am I going to do without you, Eff?"

The words were quiet and thoughtful. Not necessarily sentimental, almost clinical. As if it were an obvious statement of fact. But they hinted at something tender, something affectionate. They hinted at a meaning that Haymitch would never say under normal circumstances. Effie's intuition flared, and she saw the deeper meaning behind the seemingly innocent question. And suddenly she knew that this would be the last time she ever saw Haymitch Abernathy.

It gripped her with panic, so she gripped him harder. She swallowed it down, tried to reassure herself. He was smart. He would remain safe no matter what was going to happen. He knew what he was doing.

With that thought, she took a deep breath through her nostrils. He gently squeezed her hand. Tears flowing faster, Effie kissed his shoulder blade and whispered in response to his question, "Everything you can."

And that moment, Katniss's arrow blew up the force field with a bright flash of light, and the Peacekeepers barged into the room.

* * *

**Been wanting to write this forever. I should be working on chapter eight for _Fine Line,_ and I'm trying. Just a little stuck. So I wrote this to try to get my creative juices flowing again. Hopefully I'll have more inspiration tomorrow.**

**Anyway, let me know what you think about this! I've been craving to delve into Haymitch's reaction to Chaff's death. We get nothing in the books, but it mentions they were friends. It obviously must have affected Haymitch somehow. Just thinking about it while I was rereading Catching Fire made my throat close! So I wrote this. How you like? Do you? Let me know! I love feedback. :)**

**Thanks for reading!**

**-Lullaby-**


	7. The Beholder That Look

**I'm deeply sorry. I warn you now, this is not a light-hearted piece.**

* * *

___Title: The Beholder (That Look)  
Summary: No one looked at Haymitch quite like Effie.  
Rating: T for language  
Pairings: Hayffie.  
Disclaimer: I do not own Haymitch, Effie, or anything else related to the Hunger Games. -Sigh-_

* * *

Haymitch had a vendetta against eyes. Humans, particularly those from the Capitol, seemed to have some sort of fetish with them. There are all sorts of sayings about eyes. _"The eyes are the windows to the soul." "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder." _Well, Haymitch personally didn't want anyone to see into his soul, and he would doubt someone could find their way around the dark corridors simply through looking into his eyes. And beauty being in the eye of the beholder? As far as he was concerned, beautiful was beautiful, and ugly was ugly. It was all in the _mind's_ perception, not the _eye's_ reception. Eyes had nothing to do with beauty unless there was something stuck in it.

He didn't even know why people found _his_ eyes so fascinating. Girls always complimented his light shade—said they were such lovely eyes. He didn't get why people were so obsessed with such a stupid piece of a person's body. He hated eyes. He hated the way people fawned over them like stupid fops. He hated all the idiotic proverbs and quotes that spurned from them. But most of all, he hated what people from the Capitol did with their eyes. Not just the genetic enhancements and medical mutations people performed on the annoying orbs. It wasn't what they did _to_ their eyes. No, it was what they did _with _their eyes.

Haymitch absolutely hated the _looks _they gave him—hated the way those Capitol citizens looked at him. He wanted to rip their altered eyes right out of their sockets with every single glance they shot his way.

When he was Reaped for the Second Quarter Quell, he wasn't even worth a glimpse. They rarely looked at the mean Tribute from District Twelve. When they did, their gazes were lofty and condescending. He wasn't worth shit to them. He wouldn't last a day in the arena. Why on earth should they grace him with one of their glances? He wasn't worth their time.

Oh, but when he won, he was worth every turn of the head, every tear on the cheek, every look in the eye. When he won, he was somebody. He was a Victor—an unlikely Victor. He rose above the odds that were not in his favor. _Now_ they could look at him.

And look at him they did. Their eyes followed his every move. He couldn't escape them. They looked at him with such adoration, such praise, such awe. The gleams were fanatic. Heaven above, he had _fans._ Fans who looked at him as if he were the best thing in Panem.

Haymitch loathed it more than he thought he could loathe anything except President Snow. Not because they were vile little shits who praised and hallowed the winner of a sick ritual—an annual holocaust. That was part of it, make no mistake. No, Haymitch hated it because those Capitol morons had it right the first time.

He _was_ nothing. He wasn't worth those stupid looks. He didn't deserve to be revered, admired, and celebrated. He was a cold-blooded killer. He murdered children without batting an eye so he could stay alive and return home to his family, his girl. To see them again (because their looks were the only ones that mattered to him—and they were no longer alive, all because of him). He wore the blood of children like a scarlet letter, and the Capitol hailed him for it. He deserved to die, not soak in lavish praise. He wasn't worth anything. He didn't deserve any of those looks that he hated so very, very much.

And so he drank.

He drank to drown out the adoring stares. He drank to squash every belief the Capitol citizens held about his place on the pedestal on which they put him. He'd never had alcohol before. He only knew it was meant to block out the senses. He was surprised to find the lack of control it wrought. Not only that, but it took away the nightmares. The nightmares where his victims' families would glare at him with hatred and vengeance, and the Capitol would stare at him with manic rapture.

He drank himself sick. He wouldn't stop until those gross Capitol stares turned from adoration to disgust. He would make them look at him the way he looked at himself. Worthless, putrid, a nothing. He would give them the Victor they truly had. A Victor who drowned himself in liquor when he couldn't drown himself in guilt. And soon there were no stares at all. Not one glance spared his way. Just like his Reaping.

When Haymitch met Effie Trinket for the first time, he hated her the moment their eyes locked. Within the first split second of knowing her, he was immediately reminded of one of those ridiculous eye-quotes. Haymitch didn't need to know Effie for more than five minutes before he knew that she epitomized: _"The eyes are the windows to the soul."_ She wore her heart on her sleeve. No matter how hard she tried to mask her emotions on her face and in her mannerisms, those deep blue eyes never lied. She could try all she wanted to conceal what she was feeling, but her eyes always betrayed her. Her eyes _were_ the window to her soul. And Haymitch despised her for it. She was Capitol. No one from the Capitol had a heart, and no one from the Capitol had a soul.

Not to mention, when young Effie Trinket first met his eyes, he was taken aback by what was in them. Even through the professional front she tried to put on, she looked at him with such awestruck wonder you would think he was the greatest gift to all mankind. He could only equate it with a child meeting their lifelong hero, or a young girl meeting her celebrity crush (this one seemed more likely considering from where she came). But that couldn't be it, because he made sure for the past fifteen years that he gave the Capitol reason to never look at him that way again. Certainly not some doll who chose to be an escort for the Hunger Games.

But her expression surpassed all those from years past. Hers was as if he were the very sun that shined in her Capitol. Like she really thought he was something special. It was as if the bottle in his hand and his less than pristine appearance meant nothing. It was clear she was a little put-off, but her wonder never left her face. And for a moment, Haymitch felt as important as she made him out to be. It had been so long since anyone had looked at him like that; it stirred something buried deep, deep inside him. For a nanosecond, Haymitch felt like he was worth something.

His revulsion was immediate. He threw his head back and took a deep swig of his drink. He didn't bother to wipe the dripping liquid from his chin. "Wipe that look off your face, girl," he growled at the pink escort. "It makes you look uglier than you already are."

The confusion hit her before the hurt. But it at least erased her adoration. Haymitch made especially sure to drink as much as possible around her. Anything to drown the looks she gave him that were so similar to the ones he received once he became a Victor. He refused to allow some airhead broad shake him out of his routine. He drank until her face was fuzzy, and insulted her until she crumbled. She didn't always cry—he would give her that. But he made sure to drive his comments home.

She fought back, of course. Anyone with sense and a healthy pride would do the same. She returned fire, albeit her comebacks were lame. She stuck up for herself, badgered him incessantly, refused to let him break her. He would bait her until he could see the orange flame flash in the dark blue—until the only thing present in her eyes was exasperation or pain.

He wasn't quite sure when his excessive drinking became less and less around her. Oh, he still drank. There were nights when she had to drag him to his room because he was so indisposed. But he noticed after their fifth year together that he spent more time around her sober—or, at least, half sober—than usual. His insults became less berating and more teasing. He could never fully stop pestering her—she was just too easy. It was fun to get her all riled up. He wasn't sure when or how this change happened.

He supposed maybe he had gotten used to her. Maybe he felt like he owed her something. As much as it pained him to admit it, she wasn't all that bad. She put up with him, even on his most impossible days. She legitimately tried to help the kids when he knew it was a lost cause. She…strangely enough, took care of him. She cleaned up after his messes. She helped him into his bed (sometimes even tucked him in) on rough nights. She held his head while he puked into the flawless Capitol basins. He could swear he could see her silhouette once or twice when he was having his worst nightmares. And with each gesture, she would give him _that look_.

Now that he thought about it, _that look_ never left her face when she was around him. It seemed that no matter what he did—no matter what horrible name he called her, how plastered he would get, how much of a pain in the ass he truly was—she never stopped looking at him the way she did when they first met. Sure, her face was laced with an array of emotions ranging from annoyance, pity, and sometimes, outright fury. But her eyes hid nothing from him. He could read her like a big-printed book, even when he was completely smashed. Maybe that's why he stopped trying as hard as he did to drown the look. It didn't matter how much he drank, it was always present. Hidden in her dark blue irises (which he found a little pretty in his weakest moments) was that look of ardor, admiration, and…something he could never quite identify.

It was that unidentifiable flicker of something that puzzled Haymitch the most. It was most prominent when she stared at him when she thought he wasn't paying attention. She really wasn't the best at discretion. It was kind of hard to be inconspicuous when her hair was bright enough to cause a sunburn, and her perfume was strong enough that he smelled her with every movement she made.

They were on the returning train to District Twelve after the Seventieth Annual Hunger Games. All of their delicacies consisted of some sort of seafood in honor of the newest Victor. Haymitch took a gulp of his wine, examining the plethora of shellfish before him. They reminded him of a conversation he once had with his girl (the painful tug at his heart was almost nonexistent now). He had once promised her he would take her to District Four with his new Victor status. She would finally get to look at the sea. She only laughed at him, looking at him much like Effie looked at him now.

The realization was so sudden, so ridiculous, he laughed, spitting out his wine all over the tray of shellfish. Effie scolded him, which only made him laugh harder. He laughed so hard his belly shook and his eyes formed tears.

Effie looked at him in confusion. "What on earth is so funny, Haymitch Abernathy?" she asked, irritation dripping from her tongue.

Laughter subsided into hearty chuckles. Haymitch waved a hand at her. "Don't even worry your little, blue head about it, sweetheart."

Haymitch stood from the table and left the room without excusing himself (he knew it would annoy the etiquette out of her). He grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the liquor cabinet. He shook his head in bemusement as he headed to his room, opening the bottle to enjoy the amber liquid. It all finally made sense. The mysterious look in Effie's eye, so similar to his girl's all those years ago. He recognized it at last. It was so unbelievable to consider, he laughed again into his bottle.

Effie Trinket had a crush on him.

Little Miss Perfect, Capitol Princess, Pain In The Ass, Effie Trinket fell for the slovenly mentor from the poorest District in Panem. It was quite possibly the funniest thing to happen to Haymitch yet. He longed to rub it in her face, to tease her mercilessly about her juvenile and impossible crush. But he wasn't cruel. Well, he was, but even Haymitch knew where to draw the line. Besides, it would eventually pass. She'd meet some hoity-toity politics man who could give her everything he never could. She'd turn her gaze to someone else. She'd forget all about her feelings for the drunkard.

Haymitch didn't acknowledge that it maybe, sort of bothered him.

It took three more years before that possibility threatened to turn into reality. He'd never seen Effie flirt with anyone before. Or perhaps he just never paid attention before. But seeing her giggle, fondle, and chat with a member of President Snow's entourage made Haymitch so livid his vision was turning red (with a tinge of green). His lip curled when he saw the man's arms snake around Effie's tiny waist. Haymitch hadn't realized he walked over to them until his fist came into contact with the man's jaw.

Effie gave him an earful when they got back to the penthouse. She'd yelled at him from the moment they stepped into the car, and she continued to yell until they stepped into the living area. He barely registered what she was saying. He was too focused on her shrieking mouth, flushed cheeks, and most of all, her blazing eyes.

"Why, Haymitch?" she demanded, her hands on her curving hips. "Why is it so hard to let me enjoy myself once in a while? Romulus is a nice man!"

Haymitch clenched his jaw. Romulus Speare was anything but a nice man. That much he knew. One tended to pick up things in bars where government officials were too careless with their liquor and too loose with their tongues.

Effie rubbed her temples, seeing she wasn't getting through to the infuriating man. "Just…Just why, Haymitch? Why did you punch Romulus?"

Haymitch shrugged as if it meant nothing. "Maybe I just didn't like the way he was looking at you, princess." He walked away before she could ask him what he meant.

But Haymitch knew it had nothing to do with the way Romulus was looking at Effie (well, a little). It had everything to do with the way _Effie_ was looking at _Romulus_. It teetered dangerously close to how she looked at Haymitch.

And Haymitch did not like it one bit.

_That look_ belonged to Haymitch and no one else. That she even dared to think of anyone else in that fashion angered Haymitch. But most of all, it scared him for reasons he didn't even know. He didn't like the idea of Effie having feelings for someone other than himself, of Effie making eyes at another man. For some inexplicable reason, he'd grown fond of the nuisance after nearly ten years of working with her. He'd grown used to the way she looked at him. He may have even come to _like_ the way she looked at him.

And he realized, with horror, that maybe he'd come to look at her in the same way.

Thankfully, he didn't have much time to dwell on this the next year. Their gazes were set aside, and determination set in place. They finally had the chance at bringing home a Victor. They poured all of their energy into making sure one of their Tributes came home. It was only when—shockingly—both of them won the Games did Haymitch once again see _that look. _Effie, in her euphoria, impulsively hugged Haymitch when the announcement was made. When she pulled away, he saw it in her eyes—unabashed, uninhibited, and unmistakable.

It filled him with dread. So for the first time in a long time, he spent the night drinking to drown it out. Katniss had sparked something in the District. He knew the pending Rebellion was about to explode. He cursed himself for allowing Effie to creep into his life. He blamed those damned eyes of hers. Those eyes that made him feel like he was really something. That made him feel like someone could care for him. Those eyes that somehow cracked away at his innate need for human intimacy. Those eyes that now put Effie in danger, because Haymitch knew President Snow would somehow find out about this weird connection they had.

It didn't surprise him when he found out she had been captured shortly after the Third Quarter Quell. It didn't surprise him when he found out she was being tortured. President Snow _had _found out that Effie meant more to Haymitch than he would admit to anyone, even Effie herself. She probably had no idea why her home was now her prison. Why her friends were now her captors. She'll only know that Haymitch was part of the Rebellion that forced her in chains.

He'd never felt so worthless. And he was going to make damn sure she'd be set free.

Haymitch didn't scare easily. Aside from his nightmares and the hallucinations his mind could conjure up, not much fazed him. He could be disgusted, but rarely ever frightened. But when Haymitch found Effie lying in her cell, he'd never been more terrified in his life. It wasn't because of the blood, sweat, and vomit caking her body, nor was it because of the cuts and burns decorating her flesh. It wasn't the way her bones protruded from her skin, or that she had been stripped naked like a baby.

No, it was her eyes that scared Haymitch the most. They were blank, vacant, _lifeless_. As he carried her to the hovercraft, he tried to speak to her, let her know he was taking her to District Thirteen. Her mind was too weak and broken to register his words properly. She only seemed to recognize his voice.

"Haymitch?" she breathed. Haymitch prayed it wouldn't be her last.

"Yeah, sweetheart. It's me."

Something seemed to flicker in her eyes. But as soon as it came, it died. "No," she whimpered. "Not real." All life drained from her pupils. He didn't need to check her heart to know it stopped beating. With a panic, he wasted no time in trying to resuscitate her. He and Plutarch fought with everything they had to keep her alive.

He wasn't allowed to see her for three weeks until she was recovered enough for visitors. When he was given the okay, he wasn't sure he really wanted to see her. He didn't think he'd be able to handle it. He'd heard from the doctors and Plutarch that all she would do was stare blankly at the wall in front of her. She'd talk and respond, but her stare was vacant. Effie Trinket wasn't vacant (no matter how many times he told her there was nothing going on in that wig-covered head of hers). Effie Trinket was lively, colorful, and vibrant. She was full of emotion and expression. Effie and vacant didn't mix well. They were antonymous.

At least, that's what he thought until he finally saw her. Sure enough, there she was, lying in a bed and clad in only a hospital gown. Staring blankly at the wall. He knew that if Katniss didn't kill Snow, Haymitch would do it himself. He'd make Snow as lifeless as Effie's gaze.

Swallowing his rage, Haymitch cleared his throat. Effie turned her head to the sound. He saw something spark on her face. First it was confusion, surprise, and then disbelief. She blinked her eyes rapidly as if trying to convince herself he was really there.

Haymitch tilted his chin to her. "Hey, princess."

"You're supposed to be dead," she replied, her voice cracking on the word _dead_. Her body tensed. She eyed him warily, like she was afraid he would evaporate…or hurt her.

Haymitch repressed a wince. The doctors told him her psyche had been damaged (thank you, Captain Obvious). They told him to act as he normally would around her. Perhaps it would shake her out of her stupor. The only thing normal for them was bickering and teasing. It would have to do.

He sauntered over to the bedside chair. "Sweetheart, I couldn't tell you how many times you've wished me dead." She flinched. Okay, that probably wasn't the best choice of words. "Unfortunately for you, I'm alive and kicking." He plopped into the chair and leaned his elbows on his knees.

Effie looked at her hands. "They told me they killed you."

He shrugged. "Well, no such luck. Even if they did, you couldn't be rid of me that easily." He smirked. "I'd come back to haunt you."

She whipped her head to him, fire blazing in her eyes. Maybe he shouldn't be happy he made her mad, but he was ecstatic. Finally, there was life inside her.

"Every day you came to haunt me, Haymitch," she spat. "I believed you were dead. _Dead._ They told me they captured you and tortured you to death. They made me _hear _it. They made me listen to your execution! All I heard over and over were your screams. Every night even when the tape wasn't playing anymore. You were there. And all I could think was that you were right the whole time. You were right about _everything_. I didn't tell them anything because _you were right_! When Snow told me they had you, I still didn't say anything because I thought they were lying." Tears began flowing down her whitewashed cheeks. "Instead of my usual punishment—" she unconsciously brought a hand to her arm, clutching it as if she were in pain "—they came up with something different. Listening to your execution. You were dying because I refused to speak! You were dying because of me!"

She broke down. She sobbed into her hands, rocking herself back and forth. Haymitch watched her, unsure of how to respond. He settled for awkwardly patting her leg covered with the scratchy hospital blanket. "I'm fine, Effie. I'm right here. I'm not dead. I'm okay."

"I thought I killed you," she mumbled into her hands. "I thought I killed you just like I killed all those children whose names I drew out of that horrible Reaping Ball!" She drew a shuddering breath. She peeked at him between her fingers. "Plutarch told me you saved me. Why?"

Haymitch swallowed hard. He didn't want to have this conversation. He'd yet to have it with himself. "I wasn't going to let them hurt you, Eff." He was just too late. They'd hurt her possibly beyond repair. Well, he'll be sure to put her back together.

She slid her hands from her face into her lap. "But _why_, Haymitch? Why, when you were right about everything?" She turned her face away. "When you were right about me? About me being a child-killer."

He hesitantly put his hand over hers. "Hey, look at me, sweetheart." She complied. "Listen to me, Eff. I'm only going to say this once. I said those things because I was mad at the Capitol, not you. You never killed anyone. You were only a pawn for the real culprit. And even though you didn't know anything about the Rebellion, you kept your mouth shut as if you did. You're strong, Effie. You're stronger than I ever gave you credit for. I saved you because…" Haymitch paused. How could he explain something he didn't even know how to explain to himself? He locked eyes with her. "I saved you because, believe it or not, princess, you do mean something to me. And I'll be damned if anything happens to you on my watch."

And there it was. It was almost instantaneous. Haymitch at last saw the one thing he didn't think he'd ever be so happy to see.

_That look._

For the first time since he arrived in District Thirteen, he didn't ache for a drink. For the first time since he won his Games, Haymitch didn't feel like drinking to drown out the looks given to him. But then again, no one looked at him quite like Effie Trinket.

He didn't get a chance to see her after that. Things with the Capitol were coming to a close. He was needed while the war came to an end. He didn't have time to visit Effie. The next opportunity he had was after Katniss's trial. He came to Effie's room to let her know Katniss's verdict, and that Coin was dead. The New Court was still debating on whether to continue the final Hunger Games. Plutarch would fill him in later.

When he waltzed into her room—well, barged, because he knew it would annoy her—he was immediately (once she finished her miniature lecture about manners) greeted with _that look_. And all at once, it struck Haymitch. Once this was all over, Effie would have nowhere to stay. Her home had been demolished in the war. In the past, he wouldn't give two shits. But war and imprisonment tended to shift perspectives. And though he was positive he would regret this decision later, and she would drive him certifiably nuts, he realized he might not mind seeing _that look_ every day of his life.

Haymitch put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the door frame. "So," he drawled. "Just came from Katniss's hearing."

Effie straightened her gold wig with a puzzled frown. "Oh? What did they say?"

"She's batshit crazy."

She gave him a look. "Language, Mr. Abernathy."

"Don't care, Miss Trinket."

She pursed her lips in annoyance. "Insufferable fool." He smirked. "What was their verdict? The poor girl."

"Sent back to District Twelve. I'm going with her. Supposed to keep an eye on her or something."

Effie looked away and hummed. Then she gave a small smile. She turned to Haymitch, mouth opening as if to say something, when her brows furrowed. Her gaze locked on something behind Haymitch. "Mr. Heavensbee?"

Haymitch turned. Sure enough, there stood Plutarch. Haymitch raised an eyebrow in question.

Plutarch smiled. "Forgive me if I'm interrupting something, Miss Trinket. I just need to speak to Mr. Abernathy for a moment." He gestured for Haymitch to follow him. With a shrug, Haymitch walked with him a short distance outside Effie's door.

"So what's up, Heavensbee?" Haymitch asked his voice low.

"You disappeared before the verdict about the Hunger Games with the Capitol children was disclosed."

Haymitch raised his eyebrows. "So they made their decision?"

"Indeed."

"What is it?"

Plutarch sighed. "It's a no. So you'll be free to take Katniss to District Twelve within the week."

Haymitch nodded gravely. "Okay. Thanks, Heavensbee."

Plutarch nodded once then walked away. Haymitch shook his head and turned to head back to Effie's room. He stopped in his tracks when he found her standing directly behind him. Her face was ashen.

"Hunger Games with Capitol children?" she asked, voice full of horror.

Haymitch swore violently in his head. He stared at her evenly. "Isn't it bad manners to eavesdrop, sweetheart?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I came to ask Mr. Heavensbee a question. It's not my fault you decided to talk right outside my door. Now answer me, Haymitch. What did he mean by a Hunger Games with Capitol children?"

He locked his jaw. He knew he couldn't avoid the question. She'd only ask around. It was better if it came from him. "Exactly what it is, princess."

"Why on Earth would there be such a thing?"

"Was meant to be a punishment for the Capitol. Let them know how it felt to watch their children go off and fight to the death."

Effie's jaw dropped. "That's asinine!"

"That's karma, sweetheart."

She glared at him. "Two wrongs do not make a right, Haymitch."

"Oh, I think the Capitol has made more than just a couple wrongs."

"Haymitch, I have nieces and nephews that could have been part of this!"

"Yeah? Well, tell that to the thousands of families that had to go through this for seventy-five years."

Effie flinched. Haymitch almost regretted saying that. He knew Effie felt guilty about her part in the Hunger Games. And truthfully, he wouldn't want her to go through the same thing the Districts had. But she was the one exception in thousands. That didn't excuse those who blatantly refused to acknowledge the cruelty of their sport.

Effie looked to the ceiling as if it would give her the answers she desired. Haymitch thought she was just trying to hold back tears of frustration and anger. "Haymitch, this is exactly what we fought to prevent. We fought this war to _stop_ the Hunger Games. Not continue it."

Haymitch threw his hands up in frustration. This is exactly the statement he refused to acknowledge (because he knew she was right). "What's it even matter, huh, Eff? We voted for one more Hunger Games, and it was denied once Katniss assassinated Coin. There isn't going to be another Hunger Games. So what's the point of this conversation? It's over. It's done. Move on."

Effie stared at him long and hard. When she spoke, he had never before heard her voice drop to such an octave. "What do you mean 'we voted?'"

_Shit. Damn it all to hell. _Haymitch hadn't meant to let that slip. And there was no way he could get out of it now. "I mean, we voted. The past Victors who were directly involved in the Rebellion were asked to vote yes or no to a Capitol Games. You obviously know the outcome."

She was silent for a moment. "And what was _your_ vote?"

He didn't answer. He didn't need to. She already knew the answer to that question. She clenched her jaw and moved a few steps back. "Effie…"

"You voted yes." She shook her head and looked at the floor. "You voted yes. After everything you've experienced as a Tribute, a Victor, and a mentor. After you started a Rebellion against all of this in the first place. After you fought in a war to create a new world _free of the Hunger Games_. You still voted yes. You voted in favor to willingly kill more children—to watch them fight to the death. You voted yes to another slaughter for entertainment. After all of the horrible things you've said about the Capitol…" She met his eyes. "And you're just like President Snow."

Words were meaningless to Haymitch. After years of insults and biting comments thrown his way, he built a bitterness that was impenetrable. So Effie's words had no effect on him. He knew she was right anyway. No, what hurt Haymitch—he still had feelings, after all?—were her eyes. Her dark blue eyes that were the windows into her soul. Those eyes that once held such admiration, such _love_ for him, were now filled with a loathing and hatred so deep, so pure, he knew that nothing he could do in his lifetime would make her forgive him. He would never be worth _that look_ again.

He swallowed thickly, his eyes hard. "So where that does leave us then, sweetheart?"

She didn't answer him. She only shook her head in disgust and walked away without looking back. He didn't see her for the remainder of his stay in District Thirteen. She avoided him like the plague. He didn't seek her out, either. What was the point? He knew that he destroyed whatever unorthodox relationship the two of them had. The damage was irreparable. And when she didn't show up to see off him and Katniss to District Twelve, he knew whatever hope he could have had at trying was dashed.

And so he drank.

He drank for the rest of his lonely life. He drank to drown his guilt. He drank to drown the pain he thought he was long past feeling. He drank to squelch the nightmares of children dying at his hand—Tribute and Capitol children alike.

But most of all, he drank to drown the look of unadulterated hatred in Effie's eyes.

He drank until the next train came. Then he would go to the Capitol as part of his duty to make sure that the new government was running smoothly. For the years to come, he would take that train ride to the Capitol. And every year, when he was finished with whatever Paylor and Plutarch needed him to do, he would go to a little park that paid tribute to those who died in the Hunger Games, and those who died for the Rebellion. That's where he would find Effie. He never approached her. She'd only turn him away (if she even bothered to look at him). So he merely watched as she paid her respects, debating on if he should go and talk to her. He always left deciding against it.

What could he say, anyway?

That he was sorry for being a hypocritical ass? That, despite all the insults thrown back and forth throughout the years, he couldn't bear the thought of her actually hating him? That he, dare he say it, missed her? That he finally realized he looked at her the way she used to look at him?

He couldn't do it. There was no point. She'd never forgive him. He was better off staying in District Twelve, wasting his life away in a bottle and raising geese. And though it hurt, he couldn't stop himself from returning to the Capitol and going through the same routine. Watching her, debating in his head to man up, and finally turning away. He didn't know why he did this to himself.

He supposed that maybe it was because, deep in his bitter, black heart, he hoped she would by chance turn around and catch his eye.

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**This has been in my head for weeks. It has at last taken shape. It was just my take on why Haymitch started drinking, and why Suzanne Collins left him in solitude after Mockingjay. I have a love-hate relationship with this piece. But I think I'll keep it. :)**

**So...what did you think? I'd love to know your thoughts! I always love feedback! Let me know. :) Thanks for reading!**

**-Lullaby-**

**P.S. Those who read Fine Line...I'm trying! I promise, I'm working on it! I hope to have it up by this weekend. We'll see what happens. :)**


	8. Jabberjays

**Those of you who follow me on tumblr (And I love you so much!) or track the Hayffie tag have probably already seen this. I just decided to post it here just in case there were readers who don't frequent tumblr and wanted to read. :)**

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_Title: Jabberjays  
Summary: When Haymitch's ability to cower go away, the Jabberjays come out to play.  
Rating: K+  
Pairings: Hayffie.  
Disclaimer: I do not own Haymitch, Effie, or anything else related to the Hunger Games. -Sigh-_

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Haymitch watched the monitor, mouth set in a grim and puzzled line. One minute Katniss was helping Finnick tap the trees for water, when suddenly, she was sprinting in the opposite direction and screaming her sister's name. She looked absolutely petrified. And now Finnick was following in her wake in the same fashion, calling for Annie. What trick did these Gamemakers have in mind? He only knew the arena was a clock—he was never told what horrors lie in each sector.

And suddenly he heard it.

Screams. Chilling, ear-piercing screams. Screams that were so full of fear, desperation, and pain it made the hair on the back of Haymitch's neck rise on end. As his ears recognized who they belonged to, he let out one of his own.

No. No, it couldn't be.

Haymitch gripped the counter, trying to get a hold of reality. It wasn't possible. It wasn't real. But the screams were the only things real at the moment. Screams of terror that wrought his own. He bit down on his lip until he drew blood. He couldn't respond. He couldn't show weakness. It would only be used against him. Don't give in. It isn't really her.

Oh, but it was. It was her, and she was being tortured in the most horrendous fashion. She was calling his name. It curdled his blood, chilled his bones. He tried to run to her, tried to scream her name, but he was immobilized with fear. He couldn't move, couldn't speak. He'd never felt terror such as this. Only once before, and she had been there for him. Now that it was her, he couldn't do anything but listen on, his mind begging for it to stop.

There was a lull in her screams, and he heard the explanation. She wasn't really in danger. They were only jabberjays, programmed to project her voice as if she were being tortured, killed. It wasn't real. It was only a simulation. Yes, it all made sense now.

The screaming began again. Haymitch tried to remind himself that she was fine. They couldn't hurt her. But as they pierced through his skull, he had to grip his hair as he tried to grip reality. Her screams of agony continued, seizing him and killing him. He was sweating, gasping, and shaking his head when it stopped at last.

He was surprised to find hands digging into his shoulders. He turned to find Effie, decked out in gold, clutching to him as if trying to comfort him. She looked at him with pure worry and confusion.

"I came in just as they explained the jabberjays," she told him, attempting to excuse herself from touching him. Yet she didn't let go. "I couldn't hear anything. But you could. Whose screams did you hear?" She searched his eyes, afraid to say the names.

He was well aware that she knew about his past. He knew he talked in his sleep about Maysilee and his girl. And with all the time he and Effie had worked together, it was no surprise she picked up on it (especially with all the times she helped to bed when he was too drunk to do it himself). It made sense she'd think the screams belonged to him. And she was too polite and "well-mannered" to confirm it, afraid he would accuse her of prying into his personal life without permission.

When he didn't answer, she went on. "I thought the jabberjays were only for the Tributes." She grew braver now that he hadn't pushed her off of him. She rubbed her hands along his stiff shoulders, trying her best to console him. She wasn't used to seeing him so scared. Truthfully, he wasn't either. He thought nothing scared him anymore.

She looked at the monitor in confusion. "Why could _you _hear screams?" she mused to herself.

Again, he didn't answer. Because he knew why. It was a warning from President Snow. To tell Haymitch that he knew. He knew his weakness should something happen. He knew that there was something—someone—that would break Haymitch before Haymitch had realized it himself. She was not safe. She would suffer from his decisions. Because, contrary to what Effie believed, the screams didn't belong to Maysilee or his girl. That wouldn't have mattered. Because they were already dead. No, he wasn't terrified out of his wits because the screams were Maysilee's or his girl's. He was terrified because the scream belonged to someone tangible and very much alive…for now. The screams still had an owner.

_They were Effie's._

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**Nothing to say except: Thanks for reading! :D**


	9. Mascara Stains

**Those of you who follow me on tumblr (And I love you so much!) or track the Hayffie tag have probably already seen this. Or just saw it since I literally just posted it. I just decided to post it here just in case there were readers who don't frequent tumblr and wanted to read. :)**

* * *

_Title: Mascara Stains  
Summary: Haymitch hates Effie's makeup.  
Rating: K+  
Pairings: Subtle Hayffie. Very subtle.  
Disclaimer: I do not own Haymitch, Effie, or anything else related to the Hunger Games. -Sigh-_

* * *

Effie Trinket was the epitome of perfection. She had perfect manners, perfect diction, and the perfect work ethic. She even looked perfect. She had perfect teeth, the perfect body, and her hair and makeup were always…perfect.

Well, to everyone except Haymitch Abernathy.

He hated all that makeup she put on. It made her look as inhuman as the Capitol's very core. Garish, to distract from the underlying horrors. White face, to detour from the black hearts. And bright colors to hide the bleak gray of tombstones they resurrected. It was a shame she wore such a lethal costume. If he stared at her long and hard enough, he could see a hint of beauty that was surely underneath the mask.

Maybe that's why he was so mean to her. Because he hated her mask—Panem's cosmetic facade. Whenever he saw Effie, he saw the Capitol, a cruel place who forced children to fight for them.

It stirred rage in his stomach, building up in his throat until he couldn't help but voice it all to her face. And he would watch as his words cut through her mask. Natural color would flood her face, painted lips would snarl and frown, alabaster teeth would bite the paint and scrape it off until its original pink would peak through.

But it wasn't enough.

He went on, his comments biting through her until he saw those tears shine past her colored lenses. He continued until those streaks of water—human, natural, and real—flowed down her face. Only then would he shut his mouth, watching with sadistic satisfaction as tears cracked leaks in her mask, forcing her normal skin color to appear. The mascara ran down, down, down, staining her face with black scars. She would yell at him, accusing him of making her look unpresentable to the public. She couldn't go out looking like that.

That was the only time Haymitch _could _look at her. Her puffy eyes, mascara stained cheeks, and blotchy skin were the only time he ever thought she looked beautiful. It was the only time he could see someone real, human, and relatable. It was the only time Haymitch could see _Effie_, not the Capitol. _Effie _was actually worth fighting for.

Because _Effie _was imperfect.

* * *

**Not very lighthearted, I know. Seems like I've been on Hayffie!Angst overload. Ah, well. :) Let me know what you think! And thank you for taking the time to read it! You all make me so happy (or in Robin Hood Men In Tights' universe...Heppy)!**

**-Lullaby-**


	10. Verdant: Envy

**Short drabble posted earlier on tumblr. May make it a Seven Deadly Sins type series.**

* * *

_Title: Verdant  
__Summary: Even rose-colored glasses can't hide the pigments of sins.  
Rating: K  
Pairings: Slight Hayffie.  
Disclaimer: I do not own Haymitch, Effie, or anything else related to the Hunger Games. -Sigh-_

* * *

Haymitch didn't see much green in his life. Living in District Twelve, his surroundings were always a perpetual grey. The only time he really caught a glimpse of the fertile color was on the outside of the electical fence—but even the forest had a hoary tinge to it—or when it was Effie's latest obsession. Her greens, however, were unnatural, blinding, and ugly. Her green was nothing like the fresh, spirited color he'd heard so much about. Even in his Games, the bright green of the tropical landscape had been artificial and too surreal to be a true interpretation.

He didn't have much experience with green. Whenever he heard someone even mention the color, he couldn't get an accurate grip on the mysterious pigment that always seemed to be out of his grasp. It was as if he was colorblind, but only to green as opposed to reds and oranges. It always missed him, slipped through his amber-tinted fingers. It didn't even show up in his dreams, nor when his alcoholic haze blurred every color together. Green was always absent.

It wasn't until Effie reluctantly introduced Haymitch to her boyfriend that he finally saw the color green in all of its glory. From that moment on, the color green dominated his world. It was everywhere he went, and it became brighter whenever she was in the room. It was unforgiving, uninhibited, and unrelenting. It surrounded him like a chokehold, suffocated him like poison. It was everywhere.

Haymitch decided green would never be his favorite color.

* * *

**Alternate Title: Green As Poison**

**Let me know what you thought! :)  
-Lullaby-**


	11. Anorexia Nervosa

**Drabble-ish/Oneshot.**

**A little vignette written for Effie Trinket headcannons on tumblr (you can find it on the Hayffie/Trinkernathy tags).**

**A headcannon I've been itching to write for a while. Will hopefully expand into a longer oneshot eventually.**

* * *

_Title: Anorexia Nervosa  
Summary: Effie feels hollow.  
Rating: T for language and sensitive material  
Pairings: Very, very subtle Hayffie.  
__Disclaimer: I do not own Haymitch, Effie, or anything else related to the Hunger Games. -Sigh__-_

* * *

Effie Trinket suffers from anorexia. She had the eating disorder as a teenager, and had gotten help. She hadn't had a lapse for fifteen years. Until her fifth year as an escort. She made an offhanded comment about her Tributes' lack of table manners in front of Haymitch. Haymitch swore violently and shoved her against the wall, growling out, "You're damn right they have no table manners. Those kids are lucky if they get to see a glimpse of food once a day. They've never seen so much food in their entire lives combined, and that's just the dessert table. They're lucky if they don't die of starvation before your clean little fingers pluck their names from that bowl. When they see food like that, they're not going to think twice before scarfing it down. You can bet they aren't thinking about your precious table manners. What they're thinking about is having a full belly for the first time in their short lives."

The next day, as she sat with the Tributes at breakfast, she tentatively watched their primal show of shoving food into their mouths and down their hungry throats. As she looked at her own plate of food, she found her appetite withered and nausea set in its place. Not because of her disgust with the children, but disgust at herself. She skipped her meal entirely.

It didn't take long before she began skipping every meal during the next few years. She would look at the starving children from District Twelve and think of the decadent treats waiting for her back home. She thought of how the one muffin she could have eaten that morning would be all a family of four would see for a week. She'd look at her fully rounded figure in the mirror and think of the gaunt, sometimes skeletal frames of the Seam children.

She refused to eat anything. Not for vanity as she once had as young girl, but because every time she saw food, she felt shame that she had plenty while others had none.

She passed out once during a Victor Party. She woke up to Haymitch's angry face and bellowing, "Good God, woman. You think starving yourself is going to give those kids meals on their plates? You feel guilty for eating, so you decide not to eat at all when you actually have the luxury? These kids have no choice but to starve, and you do. You ruin yourself out of some self-pity trip. You disgust me, Trinket." He shoved a plate at her face. "Now eat. There are dying children who'd kill for some food. That's what they do in these Games, after all."

Effie made sure to eat around Haymitch. But she also made sure to vomit it right back up when she could. She knew what he said made sense, but she didn't care. She relished the destruction starvation was doing to her. After all, she deserved it. She deserved to feel the pain these kids felt as she sent them to their deaths while she sat on her fat ass doing nothing.

And, she thought, the empty feeling in her stomach coincided nicely with the empty feeling in her heart as she watched her Tributes die.

The last one died trying to reach for a sleeve of crackers.

* * *

**Not much to say about this one. Please send me some feedback! I'd love to know what you thought****! And seriously, check out that blog. :) Effie-trinket-headcannons on tumblr. She's already got a few good ones!**

**-Lullaby-**


	12. Grade-A Asshole

**This was a request from Anonymous on tumblr. :)**

* * *

_Title: Grade-A Asshole  
Summary: "Haymitch is a slightly inept teacher of Effie's nephew, and she has to go into see him about her nephew's bad grades. They disagree, as they usually do ;) AU"  
Rating: T for language  
Pairing: Hayffie  
Disclaimer: I still own nothing. I'm just a poor college student who really needs to start watching her language when playing with other characters._

* * *

Effie Trinket tapped her cherry red heels—the same color as her full lips—while she waited outside Mr. Abernathy's classroom. His last class was just about over, and she had things to discuss with him. Her nephew had gotten a D minus on his midterm last week, and Effie was sure it had something to do with his least favorite teacher he was so quick to complain about.

Ever since her sister and brother-in-law died in that tragic car crash seven years ago, Effie had taken in their son Oren to raise and care for. As a single woman single woman in her late-twenties and fresh out of university with a Masters in English, she was terrified. Oren was only eight, and Effie knew nothing about raising a young boy close to the brink of puberty (or raising kids in general). But with her own parents out of the country and her brother-in-law estranged from his family, Effie was the one person whom Leo and Isis Trinket Musselman trusted with their only child. Effie loved Oren dearly, and she accepted him into her home with tender affection (and a hint of trepidation). She did her best raising him, making sure he would turn out to be the young man of whom Leo and Isis would be proud.

And that included making sure Oren obtained good grades. If that meant that Effie would have to spend an afternoon talking with this supposedly horrid teacher of his to sort out the problem, so be it. Oren was half of a Trinket, and Trinkets were not failures.

The bell rang to end the day, and a torrent of students spilled from the classroom. Effie had to brace herself against the wall to keep from being pushed over. Once the coast was clear, she straightened her fashionable blazer and marched into the classroom with her back straight and head held high.

She looked around for the teacher and was appalled to find him slumped over his desk looking all the worse for wear. His tie had been discarded onto the floor, his feet were bare and kicked up on his desk, and his shirt was halfway unbuttoned to reveal the tip of his dark chest hair. He had a hand over his eyes, looking as if he were fighting off a migraine. He probably would have been very handsome if not for his apparent lack of hygiene.

She disliked him immediately, but quickly banished the thought. She must not make any judgments before officially meeting him.

Effie cleared her throat. "Excuse me, are you Mr. Abernathy?"

The man lifted his hands from his eyes and looked her up and down with a mocking sneer. "Who the hell are you?"

Effie started, shocked at his language. Did he talk this way around his students? "I'm Effie Trinket, Oren Musselman's aunt and guardian."

Mr. Abernathy grumbled something under his breath. Whatever it was, it didn't sound pleasant. "Hold on a minute, would ya? I need to be prepared for this." Effie heard the sound of a drawer opening, and was horrified as he took out a bottle of spirits and took a long, hard swig. "What can I do for ya?"

Effie gaped at him. They let this man around children? "I…Mr. Abernathy, are you drunk?"

He snorted. "Not yet, but I'm going to need to be to deal with you. Your nephew is bad enough, and your voice sure isn't music to my ears, sweetheart."

Did he just call her _sweetheart_? "I beg your pardon? I came here to discuss my nephew's grades, not listen to you demean him. Although, if this is how you treat him, it's no wonder he doesn't like you."

"Woman, I've known you for two minutes, and I can already you say you ain't no picnic yourself. You want to talk about Oren's grades? He's failing, and needs to get his shit together. End of story." He took another drink. "Don't let the door hit you on your way out."

"Well, I never!" Effie gasped. "How dare you talk to me in such a way! If my nephew is failing, I would expect his teacher to help him out in some way! Offer tutoring, extra credit, _something_ rather than sit behind his desk drinking around underaged children!"

"I can guarantee you about three-fourths of these kids drink more in a weekend than I do in a month, little lady. Well, definitely not more, but you get my drift right?" He took another drink, wiping the corner of his lips with his index finger. "And it isn't my fault your nephew is failing."

Effie laughed bitterly. "Is that so, Mr. Abernathy? Oren comes home every day complaining about your teaching habits…and I can see with good reason. A student's grades reflects on the teacher. Math is hard enough, but your refusal to teach properly has made Oren's grades suffer severely."

Mr. Abernathy slammed his bottle onto his desk and walked around his desk until he was in front of her. "First of all, it's algebra, not rocket science. It's not that hard to begin with. Second of all, who are you to come into my classroom and tell me how to teach? I get enough shit from ungrateful brats who are spoiled by people like you. Then you come in here and bitch to me that _I'm_ the problem?"

Effie squinted her eyes. Her first impression was right. She loathed this man and his awful manners. "What are you saying, Mr. Abernathy?"

"What I'm saying, _sweetheart_," he spat the name like it had a sour taste, "is that you don't know shit, just like your nephew. You know why he's failing? He doesn't do his work. I haven't received one homework assignment from him all year. He doesn't ask questions when he doesn't understand something. And I can tell you from his tests and quizzes that he doesn't understand much other than two plus two equals four. And as far as extra credit goes? I offer extra credit to the students who work hard. The students who are starving to understand the concept of even the simplest of equations, but they can't no matter how hard they try. But if they do try, _that's_ when I offer extra credit. I'm not about to let some privileged kid whose spoilt rotten pass when he hasn't done anything to show me he deserves it. Get me, sister?"

Effie was left speechless. This couldn't be true. Oren was a hard worker, a good student. He always promised her he finished his homework whenever she asked, and she believed him. She spoke slowly and carefully to see if she understood what Mr. Abernathy was saying. "Oren…he hasn't turned in any of his assignments.? That can't be possible."

Mr. Abernathy snorted. He gestured to the computer on his desk with a sarcastic flourish. "You need to see the gradebook?"

"No," Effie answered softly shaking her head. "I don't. I just…I wasn't aware he had been slacking."

Mr. Abernathy crossed his arms and leaned against his desk. "Yeah, I can tell. You thought _I'd_ been slacking off. I may not be the best or the nicest teacher around, but I'm fair. And contrary to what you believe, little lady, I do know what I'm doing." He gave a crooked smile that made Effie's heart stutter and nodded to the bottle on his desk. "I just don't look like it."

Effie bit her lip, her face heating in embarrassment. "I'm sorry," she mumbled softly. "For the way I treated you. I shouldn't have raised my voice."

"No, you shouldn't have. Your damned screeching made my ears bleed." Mr. Abernathy scratched his inner ear with his pinky, looking her up and down. "Too bad, too. You'd probably be quite a looker if your voice wasn't so annoying."

Effie wrinkled her nose in confusion. "Are you paying me a compliment or an insult, Mr. Abernathy?"

He shrugged. "Let's just say that if you're voice wasn't so irritating, I'd wish you were a derivative so I could lie tangent to your curves."

Effie stared at him blankly. She had never understood math; English was more her thing. Nonetheless, she blushed like a little school girl. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're saying, Mr. Abernathy."

"Didn't expect you would, toots." Mr. Abernathy casually strode back to his desk and picked up where he left off on his drink. "Now, I think we're done here. There's the door. You can see yourself out, right, sweetheart?"

Effie's jaw dropped, aghast. "Well. Fine then. I can see coming here was a waste of my time."

"No. It was a waste of _my_ time. Good riddance to ya."

Effie harrumphed indignantly and began her way out of the room with as much dignity as she had left. Mr. Abernathy's voice stopped her at the door.

"Oh, but if Oren fails his next test, I expect to see you here again to discuss what needs to be done, yeah?"

"Fine. My number is in his contact list. I'll expect your call."

"I suspect you will."

"Right. Good day, Mr. Abernathy."

"Whatever, sweetheart."

* * *

**So, what did you think? This was harder than I thought it would be. XD And my computer deleted it like twice before I even finished it. Yayyyyy for dumb laptops!**

**Anyway, tell me your thoughts! I had a lot of fun with this. :)**

**Also, for those of you reading Fine Line, be on the lookout for an update this weekend. I KNOW, IT'S A MIRACLE! But this chapter is a miracle in and of itself. So hopefully, all goes according to plan.**

**Thanks for reading! I LOVE YOU!  
-Lullaby-**


	13. Bras, Thongs, and Lace, Oh My!

**Posted for a prompt from an anon on tumblr. :)**

* * *

___Title: Bras, Thongs, and Lace, Oh My!  
Summary: "Effie goes clothes shopping in the Capitol with Haymitch and somehow he gets lost in the underwear department."  
Rating: T for language and content  
Pairing: Hayffie  
Disclaimer: I own a big pot of nothing! HAH!_

* * *

Haymitch eyed the various colorful displays in utter contempt. Ugh. How in hell did Effie Trinket convince to go shopping with her? And what in hell possessed him to say yes?

"_Woman!" Haymitch roared. He found her in the penthouse kitchen applying her makeup. She seemed to like the lighting in the kitchen than in her own room. He charged towards her, gripped the back of her chair, and thrust forward his angry face until it filled most of the mirror she used to apply her disgusting, Capitol facade. "Where is my liquor?"_

_Effie gave him a dirty look and shoved his face away from her. As skilled as she was with her makeup, she couldn't apply her yellow eyeliner without the help of her circular mirror. "You drank it all last night, Haymitch," she answered in a calm voice, carefully coloring along her lash line._

_Did he? He couldn't remember the night before. Guess that should have been his first clue. "Then order more!"_

"_I did. The company's on back order for the Victor's Celebration tomorrow night. They promised to ship it to your house the next even to compensate for the inconvenience."_

_Haymitch grabbed her chin and pulled it toward him so that they were nose to nose. He narrowly avoided the eyeliner stick poking her eyeball. "Listen to me, princess," he hissed with as much venom as his hung-over self could muster. "I need that liquor."_

_She matched his glare. "You also need a breath mint," she clipped, shoving him away with her perfectly manicured hands. "But we both know these are things that aren't going to happen. You'll just have to deal with it, Haymitch."_

"_Look, Effie—"_

_She let out a long, heavy sigh. "Haymitch, if you really need your drink so badly, I suggest getting some help for that. But since that's another thing that's not going to happen, why don't you accompany me to Capitol Square? I have some shopping to do, and I could always use some help carrying my bags."_

_Haymitch laughed a loud, bitter sound. "Why would I ever agree to go shopping with you, princess? I can barely stand you, let alone a Square filled with your types."_

_Something akin to hurt flashed across Effie's eyes. Haymitch chose to ignore it. "It's either go shopping with me, sit in the penthouse alone and sober with your demons, or going to the bar with more of 'my type.'" She smiled faintly. "And I know how much you hate frequenting Capitol Bars."_

_That much was true. They were either filled with the vilest of Capitol men. None of the Victors liked going to the bars. There were loud, loose conversations from men in charge, or men who wished they were in charge, who talked so carelessly of the Games and the Districts. Each sentence triggered something in each Victor, and not even the alcohol could tame those visions when the triggers surrounded you from all sides, drowning you more than the alcohol could bear to hope. It was better to drink in solitude._

_Of course, Effie didn't know about the triggers. She only knew that he hated going to the bars. And she was using that to her advantage in order to make him her lackey for the afternoon._

"_Fine. Be ready to leave in an hour, Trinket. I want to get this torture over with as soon as possible."_

Oh yeah.

That was how Haymitch was stuck with roaming the Capitol Square, with an overly bubbly escort (and he thought she was annoying during everyday life? Please, that was tame compared to how she was when armed with a credit card and wig boutiques.) hanging on his arm. Haymitch refused to acknowledge how kinda comfortable and warm she felt so close against him.

The two adults sat on a bench in the middle of the Square. Haymitch was bushed, but Effie was still bright-eyed and flushed from a successful shopping spree. Haymitch closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, trying to block out Effie's chipper voice. He had a bitch of a migraine from exhaustion and lack of drink, and she was certainly not making it any better.

"Haymitch," Effie spoke in a softer tone, placing her hand on his triceps so he was forced to look at her from the corner of his eye. "Thank you for coming with me today. I know it's the last thing you'd want to be doing, but I do appreciate it."

He grunted in response. Her flushed cheeks were a little too enticing at the moment.

"Well," she sighed and stood up, "I only have one more store. You can just stay here. I won't be long."

Haymitch gratefully leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He didn't watch to see which direction she went. Before he knew it, he dozed off in the middle of Capitol Square.

He woke up with a jolt, automatically reaching to the right to grab a knife that wasn't there. His fingers instead grabbed a fistful of crinkling plastic—Effie's numerous shopping bags. Haymitch took a deep breath and wiped at the thin layer of sweat on his forehead. Even his naps were filled with nightmares.

He looked at his watch. He'd been sitting on the bench for twenty minutes, and Effie still hadn't come back.

Enough of this madness, he thought while casting a dirty look to the passersby who thought it comical to find a former Victor—a Victor usually lathered in drink—surrounded by the pinks, purples, and deep blues of Effie Trinket's purchases. He wanted to go back to the penthouse now. He just had to find that stupid woman.

Haymitch marched into the first store he could find, his arms weighted down from the bags. He didn't even glance at the shop sign. About halfway through the store, Haymitch realized his mistake and took in his surroundings.

Well, shit.

Covering the walls from floor to ceiling and barely covering display mannequins were myriad of different types of lingerie. Blacks, reds, prints, lace, silk—any woman's wish to feel cute and sexy, and every man's dream to tear off with his teeth.

And that was Haymitch's clue to know that he needed to get out of there _fast_. If Effie was in here…

He didn't need that mental picture.

"Can I help you, Mr. Abernathy?"

Haymitch whirled around to see who addressed him. He was used to people recognizing him by name. He was, after all, the winner of the Second Quarter Quell. Not many people forget something like that.

He was met, to his great annoyance, by one of Effie's "dearest friends." She often came to the penthouse during the downtime in the Hunger Games. In other words, after the first five minutes when their Tributes were usually bludgeoned to death. What was her name? Lester? Lysander? Listerine?

"No," he spat.

Lis-something raised a bejeweled eyebrow. "No? Looking for someone in particular?"

"Effie."

Lis-something's eyes grew to the size of saucers and her mouth dropped open. "Effie? My Effie Trinket? No, I suppose she's _your_ Effie Trinket. I…she never mentioned this to me. You know, I always wondered why she bought so many items from the Sex-Kitten Section, but I suppose it all makes sense now…" She trailed off unsure, looking Haymitch up and down.

Haymitch narrowed his eyes until it finally dawned on him what this strange creature meant. "What? No, _No_! No, the princess and I are not involved. I'm looking for Effie as in the person. Not…not _that_."

The girl sighed in relief. "Oh, thank heavens! I thought I was missing something!"

Haymitch felt the same way. Effie shopped in the Sex-Kitten Section? _Why_ did she shop in the Sex-Kitten Section? _What_ was in the Sex-Kitten Section? What did she look—?

Okay, stop there.

Lis-something pulled him from his disturbing reverie. "Well, if you happen to find her, tell her Lisabetha said hello!"

Lisabetha! That's her name! Whatever, still weird. For him, anyway. Before he could once more display his biting wit, a familiar shriek from the doorway stopped him.

"Haymitch Abernathy, what in Panem's name do you think you're doing in a woman's lingerie store?!"

"Effie, darling!" Lisabetha squealed and stretched out her arms.

Effie briefly hugged her without taking her angry, vaguely mortified eyes off the aggravated mentor. "Haymitch, I asked you to accompany me to help me when my bags got too heavy, not to hang around women's underwear like a brutish pervert!"

"Hold up, Trinket," he said with a warning in his voice. "When did I become your bitch?" For emphasis, he roughly dropped her bags on the floor. He wasn't sure whether her outraged face was a result of his language or his actions. Probably both. "I'm tired of this crap. I'd rather spend my day in a bar. And for your information, I came in here looking for you. So why don't you try thinking before you go making assumptions? Afraid I'd find out about your fetish for kinky underwear?"

_Oh, like you aren't curious as to what it looks like. Better yet, what it looks like on her._

"How dare you!" she exclaimed with a furious blush while she picked up her precious items from the shiny, red floor. "My unmentionables should stay exactly that. Unmentioned."

"Hey, I didn't ask what you had underneath those costumes you wear."

"Oh my!" Lisabetha said with a nervous laugh. "Look at the time. I really must get back to work. It was lovely seeing you, Effie. We simply must do lunch sometime soon. Ta ta, dear!"

Haymitch and Effie glared at each other, Haymitch's jaw clenched from irritation and just wanting to leave, and Effie with her lips pressed in a thin line and feeling utterly exposed.

"We will never speak of this again," Effie mumbled so only Haymitch could hear.

"Whatever you say, Sex-Kitten."

* * *

**I don't know what this is. XD Basically, it was a prompt that has been in my inbox for two weeks, I've had a rough week, and I needed to relieve my stress. So...this happened.**

**What'd you think? I'm a little out of practice. But I'd love to know your thoughts! Thanks for reading!**

**-Lullaby-**


	14. Merry Kissmas

**Sorry I've absent for so long! School...yeah...**

**Anyway. Here's a fluffy oneshot for the holiday season! The story behind Christmas was left out in this story because, in my headcanon, Panem would never let anything with any type of religious connotation live in their world. However, if you don't know the origins of Christmas, you can look it up in Luke chapter two!**

**This story takes place shortly after Haymitch and Effie begin working together. I picture Effie being around 25 or 26 and Haymitch being 30.**

* * *

_Title: Merry Kissmas  
Summary: Effie hangs some mistletoe up in the penthouse.  
Rating: K+ for minor language  
Pairing: Hayffie  
Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING!_

* * *

Effie stood on the very tips of her toes in order to hang the small arrangement of leaves and berries above the door mantle that led from the living area to the bedrooms' hallway. The leafy confection was no bigger than a car air freshener, but it held significance for the flamboyant escort. If only she could hang it up there…

If Effie were in her newest pair of designer heels, she'd be able to reach the mantle no problem. But her feet were sore after a long day of prepping with the other escorts for the annual X-Mas ball which all escorts and past Hunger Games Victors are required to attend. She rewarded herself a well-deserved break by kicking off those killer (yet deeply fabulous) shoes as soon as she walked into her bedroom and slipped on a pair of knee-high cashmere socks. Normally Effie wouldn't wear such juvenile and unfashionable hosiery, but they were the last gift her late grandmother had given her for X-Mas. Besides, they were warm and soft.

"Princess, what the heck are you doing?"

Effie jumped, startled at the sound of gruff, slurred words. "Haymitch Abernathy, you scared the living daylights out of me!"

Haymitch smirked, his glassy eyes dancing with sarcastic amusement. "I'd say sorry, but I'm not, so I won't."

"Ever the mature one, Mr. Abernathy," Effie mumbled with a roll of her eyes. "It's two-thirty in the morning. Shouldn't you be passed out in your bathtub by now?"

Haymitch shrugged. The effort mixed with the already exuberant amount of alcohol in his system caused him to stumble. He quickly righted himself and said, "Ran out of eggnog for the rum. Had to go get more."

He held up a brown bag full of what Effie presumed to be eggnog—and probably three more bottles of rum. Haymitch didn't care if he had to drink rum by itself. But the drunkard had a penchant for the thick, dairy drink ever since he first had a taste at the X-Mas ball six years ago. That had been Effie's first ball as an escort, and she had to haul an unconscious Haymitch Abernathy to his room by herself (the reason, Plutarch had told her, was that she had to know exactly what she was getting herself into before she fully accepted the job as District Twelve's escort). Effie's X-Mas gift that year had been a lapful of eggnog-and-vodka vomit. It wasn't one of her more pleasant memories.

Haymitch motioned his bag of drinks in a vertical motion, staring pointedly at her. "I have my excuse. What's your excuse for standing out here in the middle of the night, half-naked?"

Confused, Effie looked down at herself. She was mortified to see that she was clad only in her socks and one of her very oversized X-Mas sweaters. It had been another gift—from an ex-boyfriend turned dear friend—and it was one of Effie's favorite things to wear to bed. It was as long as one of her dresses and covered everything important, but Effie still rushed to pull down at the hem. "Haymitch!" she hissed, blushing furiously.

He rolled his eyes. "Relax, sweetheart, it's just me. I've seen you in less."

Effie's blush doubled. "Don't remind me. Now do you understand why it's important to knock when someone is in the shower?"

"I thought you were killing an animal!"

"I was _singing_ in the _shower_! I'm well aware I'm not very good at it, but you've heard me do it dozens of other times before that. I have a memory of the most unmannerly, insulting remarks you've made to prove it."

"To be fair, princess, I was hammered."

"Yes, well_ I_ was traumatized."

"You think I wasn't? I still can't get the image of you shaking your bare ass out of my head."

Effie brought her hands to her face. "Can we just forget about this, please?"

"It's a little hard to forget the world's worst rendition of 'Never Gonna Give You Up.'"

"Haymitch!"

"Seriously, though, princess. Why that song? It's centuries old!"

"_Haymitch_!"

He laughed deep from his gut. Effie turned away from him, positively fuming. He was so infuriating! He lived to humiliate her, she was sure of it. She loathed him. She loathed everything about that sloppy man, wished he would drown in District Four's ocean, and _why couldn't she get this stupid thing hanged up_?

Tears of frustration and embarrassment stinging her eyes, Effie didn't even hear the _thunk_ of bottles hitting the carpeted floor.

"Here," Haymitch grunted and plucked the offending decoration from her hands. "Sit down before you hurt yourself, Trinket."

It would have been a nice comment of concern had he not spat it so meanly.

"I apologize for not being taller, Mr. Abernathy," she replied, exasperated but grateful as Haymitch hanged up the decoration with ease.

"We all have our faults. You more than others." Before she could dignify that with a reply, Haymitch gave it a little flick, pulled out a bottle from his back pocket, and took a long swig. "So what's with turning the penthouse into a greenhouse?"

This at last brought a small smile to Effie's face. "It's time this place had some holiday cheer!"

Haymitch snorted. "Holiday cheer? Sweetheart, there ain't nothing cheerful bout this holiday season."

"Nonsense!" She shook her head. "X-mas is a time for giving! Giving to others automatically brings about a sense of fulfillment and joy and family. Surely even you have had some wonderful X-mases."

He took another drink, the lid of the bottle popping against his lips when he brought it from his mouth. "Nope. Not a one."

Effie blinked at him in shock. "But how?"

"First of all, don't have a family. Second of all, when I did have a family, we were too poor to celebrate this X-Mas of yours. 'Sides, the Districts aren't allowed to celebrate it like the Capitol."

"What do you mean?"

"Sure, you Capitol folk get to give and receive and spend the season with your family. You know what we had to do? During X-Mas, the coalminers were given extra shifts. We had to shovel out more coal during that time than we had the whole year. Still do. It's because we needed to 'give back' to the Capitol, as if receiving two of our children each year wasn't enough. Twelve lost more sons and fathers during X-Mas than any other time of the year." Haymitch laughed bitterly. "Oh yeah, X-Mas is about giving. Except the Capitol didn't give diddly-squat. District Twelve got nothing, but the Capitol sure got a lot of coal."

"Oh." Effie couldn't think of anything else to say. "I had no idea."

"Course you didn't, sweetheart. It's the Capitol's job to make sure the likes of you don't know. Not that you'd care, anyway."

Effie bit her lip to keep from retorting. It wouldn't do any good to say anything. He wouldn't believe her if she told him otherwise. Of course she cared! X-Mas was a holiday meant to be shared by everyone, and for all to enjoy. That anyone spent this holiday saddened or alone broke her heart. But Haymitch would never believe her.

"You've had a lot of X-Mases in your life," Haymitch spoke up suddenly. He was giving her a patronizing smile, obviously waiting for her to say something he could mock. "How'd you celebrate?"

Effie let out a small laugh. "It was actually quite simple."

"Simple? Nothing is simple with Effie Trinket. Bigger is better with you. And obnoxious."

She gave him a look. "Believe it or not, my X-Mases really were simple. My father, mother, little brother, and I would usually spend them with my grandparents in the outskirts of the city." Effie smiled, the feeling of nostalgia glazing over her eyes. "My grandfather used to work as an esteemed woodcarver for the Capitol, so he had all sorts of knick-knacks around the house. He would explain what important official ordered what type of furniture. His stories were always so exaggerated and ludicrous, but my brother and I didn't care. He made us laugh until our sides hurt."

Haymitch hummed. "What about your grandmother?"

Effie's smile widened. "Late at night, my grandmother would start a fire and call me into the living area while everyone else was asleep. She'd fix us both a hot cup of cider and wrap us in a blanket. Then she'd tell me stories her own grandmother used to tell her as a child."

"About what?"

"Oh." Effie bit her lip. "I shouldn't say."

Haymitch nudged her shoulder with his bottle. "Eh, come on, princess. Indulge me."

Effie regarded him for a moment. He was genuinely curious, and there really was no reason Effie couldn't tell. Her grandparents were already dead, so they couldn't get hurt. The rest of her family…well, she didn't even talk to them anymore. Not since…

Well. Not since.

And she could always write off the stories as urban legends. No danger.

Effie took a deep breath through her nose. "My grandmother would tell me stories about her grandmother's X-Mases. Except it wasn't called X-Mas in those days. It was called Christmas."

"Chrysalis?"

"No. _Christmas_. It's an ancient holiday that X-Mas stemmed from. Gran didn't know much, only that it had a deeper meaning than giving and receiving gifts. But they sounded wonderful. She used to tell me that, while not everyone believed in what Christmas meant, it was a time that united the country. Regardless of how you celebrated it, or even if you celebrated it, it gave everyone a sense of community. Because they weren't tied by just gifts, but they were tied with the possibility of Christmas having a deeper meaning."

"What was the meaning?"

Effie sighed. "I don't know. Gran never told me. I tried looking it up for myself. I tried to find the origins of this Christmas holiday. But all the records were burned. Panem decreed it too treasonous, and so everything was destroyed and the name was changed. But I think…"

"What?"

Effie met Haymitch's glossy eyes, trying to find the words in his grey irises. "I think that maybe my great-great-grandmother was onto something. After all, X-Mas had to start somewhere. Who gave the first gift? What was the first gift? What was the meaning behind it? And how could something so potentially wonderful to spark such a holiday be considered treasonous to the Capitol? We celebrate the act. Why can't we know the meaning behind it?"

She hadn't realized she was stepping closer to him with each question. Now they were only inches apart, the fabric from their shirts just barely tickling each other.

Haymitch swallowed hard but didn't look away. "Careful, sweetheart. That kind of thinking could get you into trouble."

Effie gave him a shy, teasing smile. "Not that you would care, right?" she asked, throwing his previous words back in his face.

He shrugged one shoulder, finally releasing her from his stare. Yet neither of them stepped away from each other. Haymitch gently touched the leaves hanging from the door mantle directly above them. "So what does this thing have to do with X-Mas?"

"That's the only thing Gran did tell me explicitly about with Christmas. It's called a mistletoe, and it's a decoration that's been used since the early days in the ancient Christmas holiday. They discontinued it thirty years ago, but only because imports for the leaves became too expensive."

"Mistletoe, huh?"

Effie nodded with a fond grin. "Indeed. I was able to find my grandmother's old mistletoe when we were going through her things after she died. I hang it up every year in honor of her."

"Because of her stories?"

"No," she answered with a shake of her head. "Because I always longed to have a relationship like she had with my grandfather. And the mistletoe is how the met."

Haymitch snickered. "How can a thing of dead leaves and berries make someone fall in love?"

"The tradition, of course."

"Care to enlighten me, princess? If you couldn't tell from our previous conversation, I'm not exactly well-versed in all things X-Mas-y."

"Fine. When two people are standing under the mistletoe, it's tradition that they…" Effie trailed off, a blush once more coming to her face.

"They…?" Haymitch edged her on with a smirk.

Effie bit her lip. "They kiss."

Haymitch instantly sobered, his eyebrows shooting to his hairline. "They kiss?"

Effie nodded. "Yes. That was my grandparents' first kiss. That's how they fell in love. The rest is history, as they say."

Haymitch shifted his weight and studied Effie's red face intently. "So, the point of this little…mistletoe…is that when two people are standing underneath it, they're supposed to kiss?"

"Yes, that's correct. Of course, it's an old tradition and no one practices it anymore, so I suppose it's—"

Haymitch cut her off by giving her a firm kiss on her mouth, making her eyes widen in surprise. One of his hands was cradling her cheek, and the other was gripping his rum bottle and her shoulder at once, the coolness of the bottle seeping into her neck. Effie allowed herself to melt into his kiss, her fingers going from the hem of her shirt to the collar of his own, holding him in place.

As quickly as it began, it was over. Haymitch broke away, his hands sliding from her face, and his lips leaving the taste of liquor on hers. Effie's eyes fluttered open to meet his, not quite detaching her hands from his shirt just yet.

Haymitch gave a mischievous grin. "To keep your grandmother's tradition alive."

He stepped out of her hold, picked up his bag left forgotten on the carpet, and headed into the hallway. "Merry Kissmas, Effs."

Effie watched him leave, frozen in place and trying to figure out what just happened underneath that mistletoe. "It's Merry _Christ_mas, Haymitch."

"Same thing!"

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed it! Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!**

**-Lullaby-**


	15. Impending Nuptials

**Prompt from twerkingintomordor on tumblr. "A romantic moment between Effie and Haymitch during the Everlark wedding."**

**Didn't quite turn out _romantic_, but ah well! I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

_Title: Impending Nuptials_  
_Summary: A little moment between Effie and Haymitch during the Everlark wedding._  
_Rating: K+_  
_Pairings: Hayffie. Mentioned Everlark._  
_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

* * *

Effie Trinket had always been irritatingly talkative. Honestly, Haymitch had never met another human who made so much noise! She was always so excitable, finding something to gush about in even the worst situation. He would know. He didn't spend weeks on end hearing her prattle cheery nonsense while children were brutally slaughtered in the background for nothing.

So imagine his surprise when Haymitch found Effie staring out the newly-wed Katniss and Peeta Mellark's kitchen window and drumming her fingers on the sill, eerily quiet, whilst the former Victors made friendly chat (well, most Peeta as Katniss still hadn't mastered the art of small-talk) with the friends who came to witness the toasting in the other room. Her brow was furrowed, her multicolored nails—a Capitol indulgence she couldn't bring herself to shake—tapping an erratic rhythm, and her bright pink lips thinned in deep thought. Effie Trinket was clearly either distressed or constipated.

Sighing heavily and taking a long drink from his bottle, Haymitch wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and strode over to the Capitol broad.

"Well, you look awful."

Effie ceased her finger-tapping and glared balefully over her shoulder at her former coworker. "Thank you, Haymitch," she drawled in her still thick Capitol accent.

Haymitch smirked. "Oddly enough, princess, what I meant was that you look a little down. You're at a wedding! I'd expect more enthusiasm, especially from you. I'm surprised you haven't talked my ear off on how Twelve's traditions are so base compared to the Capitol's lavish ceremonies."

She sniffed in disdain. "Unlike you, Haymitch, I know when to hold my tongue. It's not my place to judge another's culture."

Yet, she's done so before. But Haymitch didn't say anything because, contrary to what Effie believed, he did know when to hold his tongue. He just preferred not to most of the time.

"Then what's got your skirt ruffled, sweetheart?" he asked instead, crossing his arms on the island that separated him from the window where she stood.

Effie slowly turned to face him, suspicion written all over her face. Haymitch didn't blame her. He rarely asked her well-being, but Haymitch was in a pretty rare good mood. He was surrounded by people he didn't detest with his entire being, the geese were South for the winter, and the liquor was superb. Consequently, courtesy of the former escort in front of him. Haymitch figured he owed her.

Eventually, Effie decided to accept his oddly companionable (though she would use the word loosely) mood. She walked from the window to the island and mimicked Haymitch's position directly across from him.

"How come you never married, Haymitch?"

And suddenly, Haymitch's good mood was evaporated as memories of his girl—his once beautiful now dead girl—came at him without mercy. "Just never happened, princess," he said gruffly. Her eyes seemed to soften, and it pissed him off. "How 'bout you?" he spat. "You never got hitched. What, didn't find any politician or sponsor good enough for the esteemed Effie Trinket?"

Effie, used to his raging mood swings, didn't acknowledge the barb. Rather, she answered in a blunt way that Haymitch didn't expect. "Quite the opposite really. I was never good enough for any of them. For anyone, really. In fact, you may be shocked to know that every allegation you've made against me was actually proven correct."

"What are you talking about, Trinket?"

"You've never had a high opinion of me have you Haymitch? You've always thought of me as a Capitol whore, willing to do whatever with whoever in order to keep my job. I was a secondhand executioner according to you, feeling no misgivings about sending young children to their deaths like a brutal Pied Piper. I think you bought me a pipeflute for my birthday a few years after we started working together, along with a paperbacked copy of the fable."

Haymitch winced. "Not one of my finer moments, even I'll admit that."

"No." Effie sighed heavily. "But you were right. You are right."

"How so?"

"I was a Pied Piper of sorts. I was a ruthless murderess. I never killed those children by my own hands, but I sure didn't use my hands to stop it. I was a coward. A coward who killed. And I knew it. I knew it the entire time I worked as an escort. That's why I never married, although I did have an offer or two." Effie smiled slightly at a distant memory. But it left as soon as it came. "I didn't marry because I didn't feel worthy of anyone's love. I didn't even love myself; I loathed myself, probably more than you. My hands were stained an unwashable crimson. I couldn't bring such poison into a marriage. No one deserved that. And I deserved no one."

Haymitch found himself staring at Effie, stupefied and strangely horrified. Maybe it was because she said it all in such a matter-of-fact way, not an ounce of self-pity. Maybe it was because it was such a contrast to the woman he always thought her. Or maybe—most likely—it was because he knew exactly how she felt. They were all feelings he's had. And he knew how terrible those feelings felt, and what damage they could do to a person's soul. It's not something he'd wish on anyone. Not even Effie Trinket. Especially not Effie, because thought he would never admit it, he developed a certain begrudging fondness for the princess. And that's how he found himself gripping her chin roughly so she would be forced to look him in the eyes.

"Look here, sweetheart," he growled in a low voice. "I know I said some pretty terrible things to you. Things I know crossed the line, and things I would punch any self-respecting man for saying to any woman. But don't you ever for one second think you're worthless."

Effie opened her mouth to say something, but Haymitch didn't let her.

"No. Shut your trap. Yeah, you did some bad things. But you know what? So has the rest of the world. And at least you tried to atone for the sins you've made. That's more than the good majority of your kind. No, not your kind, that didn't come out right. Because you aren't like the rest of those Capitol people. You suffered for your part in the Games. You suffered for your part in the Rebellion." His eyes unconsciously flitted to a scar that ran along her temple to the back of her earlobe. "You endured a lot. You're strong. You're loyal. You're brave. You're something special, Effs, and I don't ever want to hear you say another word about you not deserving love."

He let go of her, leaving her speechless. He took a drink from his forgotten bottle. "We all deserve love, princess. It's the only thing we got that's close to hope in this messed up world. And you're no exception. You'll find some bloke to marry one day. And he'll see what I see. A woman who suffered and did some messed up stuff, but a woman who's worth spending a new life with all the same. "

To Haymitch's embarrassment, Effie's eyes began to tear up. But he wouldn't take back what he said. He meant every word. He may not like the insufferable, irritating, infuriating woman in front of him. But he sure loved her a heck of a lot. Not that she knew that.

Effie swallowed thickly so she could find her voice. "Thank you, Haymitch." He gave her a curt nod. "You…you really believe that, don't you?"

"I do, princess. I do."

But maybe he'd let her know someday.

* * *

**Oh, I don't like it. I don't like it at all!**

**I'm sorry, guys. I just really wanted to write something Hayffie, as I've been a little dry of inspiration lately (ie: Fine Line). Alas. Maybe I'll find better inspiration later! I feel like I'm so out of touch with these characters. But practice makes perfect, I suppose. :/**

**Let me know your thoughts! And thanks for reading!**

**-Lullaby-**


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